


A Game of Thrones

by Airewind



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Changing of Names, Dragons, F/M, Gendry Waters is Orys Storm, Jon Snow is Jaehaerys Targaryen, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Major character death - Freeform, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegar Lives, Riding Direwolves, Visit to Valyria, Wargs, Wolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-06-11 22:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 74,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15325371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airewind/pseuds/Airewind
Summary: How can a single truth an change the whole of lives? How can an advice change the whole game? Nobody knows that. Even Me. Well then lets hook up and see what truths come to face and what lies are revealed.





	1. CH1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys. This Fan Fic will be a mix of ASOIAF and GOT. The characters in this Fic will be a bit different than what G.R.R.M has envisioned in his books.  
> Also, all the characters belong to G.R.R.M and not to me. Only the plot belongs to me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the POV's are of one day.

**The Quiet Wolf**

Eddard Stark sat beneath the heart tree in the godswood of Winterfell on the same stone that his father had sat before him. Benjen had come today from the Wall, only two days behind arrival of the King Robert. He remembered the days they had spent together in the Vale under the care of their foster-father, Jon Arryn. The days they had fought together the accursed Mad King, Aerys II Targaryen. The day he had had been shamed to call Robert his foster-brother for killing little Rhaenys and baby Aegon, children of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

Rhaegar brought up the thought of his sister, Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell. Lyanna brought up the thought of his bastard son, Jon Snow.

_Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son, Crown Prince, Jaehaerys III Targaryen._

“Oh! Lya….” He exclaimed.

“Lyanna won’t be able to do anything Ned. You should tell Jon about his birth. He has the right to know.”  A voice interrupted his musings. He remembered it all-right. Benjen had always known where his siblings would be. Be it Brandon, Lyanna or him. He could always tell.

“Not now Ben. Not with Robert Near Winterfell. We don’t know who might hear it. If Robert’s spymaster hears about this, Robert will have my head along with the rest of my family’s.”

“Right now, is the perfect time. Lyanna would want Jon to know about his mother and father. Jon will even get to see the man who killed his father, and the man who loved his mother so much that he tore down seven realms asunder.” Ben came and sat down beside him, “As for where. The crypts are the most safeguarded place in all of Winterfell. Only a Stark would venture there while you are there. Not even the Spider could reach you there. And Lyanna has her crypt down there.” Ben said, stressing his voice.

“You think I should tell him. A secret that could plunge Westeros into war. With us as targets.” He said, angrily.

“Jon is not a fool, that he would go on and babble everyone his secret. You said it yourself that he one of the smartest in Winterfell. Aye, it would sting him a bit because you’ve kept this secret for a long time, but he would not babble it out to anyone.” Ben said anger evident in his voice. “Lyanna would have wanted Jon to know about his mother and father. You owe that to her.”

“Fine I will tell Jon about everything and I want you to be with me.” Ben nodded his head in agreement.

 

**The White Direwolf**

He ducked back as Theon’s blade slashed in front of him. He quickly retaliated with an attack of his own, but Theon blocked it.

“Not bad for a bastard.” Theon taunted. I smirked at him as I attacked straight on his blade. He had a confused look on his face as I swept my feet underneath him and he fell on the ground. I quickly pressed my blade on his throat and my foot on his sword-hand.

“I, yield.” Were the only words that came out of his mouth.

“Not bad for a hostage.” He said, brushing his hair back. He walked and sat on the bench. Taking a sip of water out of his skin he noticed Ser Rodrik Cassel coming towards him.

“Well fought Jon. You are easily the best swordsmen amongst your group.” Ser Rodrik said, admiration shining in his eyes.

“Thank you, Ser Rodrik.” He replied. He kept the sword in the stand and walked over towards Robb and Bran. Bran was learning how to shoot an arrow and Robb was helping him. Bran notched up an arrow and fired it. It sailed past away from the center and embedded itself around the outer ridges.

“If you keep stiffening up like this you will never be able to hit your target. Relax Bran and then shoot. And Mother’s watching.” Robb encouraged.

Jon looked up to see Lady Stark. She was standing on the balcony her eyes only for Bran waiting for him to hit the target. Then he saw her eyes. They were full of warmth and love for her children.

He looked back to see Bran had already nocked the arrow. He was about to shoot it but at the very moment another arrow whizzed past and hit a bullseye. We all looked back to see Arya clutching a bow in her hand. She dipped her head in a mock courtesy and ran knowing that Bran would give her a chase.

My eyes again found Lady Stark’s. Grey clashed with blue and all the warmth and love turned into hate and anger. He looked down to the ground quickly. Once again, he started wondering about his mother. Who was she? Where was she? Did she love him?

He walked up to his room all his thoughts churning about his mother. He opened the door and greeted a sight of Arya sitting on his bed.

“Have you named him yet?” She asked him. A question about their direwolves. They had found their direwolves amidst the summer snows. Grey Wind, Robb’s direwolf, and Ghost, his, were the biggest being the eldest of the wolves. Differences could be made between the direwolves easily. Ghost was the only one which had white fur and red eyes. While others were stocky and strong, Ghost was sleek and fast. Only Shaggydog was the other direwolf who had black fur and bright green eyes.

“Ghost. I’ve named him Ghost because he is white and quite and can sneak up and give anyone a scare.”

“I’ve named my direwolf Nymeria. After the warrior queen of Rhoyne.” She gave him the wolf’s name excitedly.

He sat down beside Arya Arts and Ghost came up and sat down beside him.

“So, how did you come in and what are you doing here.” He asked.

“Well breaking into your room is still fairly easy and I wanted to hide from Bran and Septa Mordane, plus I wanted to hear you play on the harp.” She said, cheekily.

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “How did you find out. No could have found out about it.”

“I saw you once in the gardens. It was beautiful.” She said.

It felt good hearing her praise. He picked up the harp that Septon Chayle had made for me and struck its strings. He hummed Arya a song. A song about a She-Wolf of the North. It was nearing dinner by now, so he packed up and took Arya with him to the Great Hall of Winterfell. Arya went and sat down on the main table while he sat below with the servants.

“Jon.” He heard someone call.

He turned around and saw Uncle Benjen walking towards him with father.

“Jon, come over here.” My father, Lord Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark called me. He walked over towards them to hear what he wanted to say.

“Jon meet us after dinner near the crypts. I need to talk to you about something.” He said in his lordly voice. He simply nodded. Uncle Benjen sat down near me while father went and sat at the Lord’s seat.

“Uncle Been you should sit with your family up at the table not with the servant’s down here.” He said.

“The Nights Watch is my family Jon and the Watch doesn’t discriminate between kings and servants.” Uncle Ben said. The Nights Watch was entertained by me to get away from Lady Stark. In the Nights Watch even a bastard could become the Lord Commander. He had still entertained it as an option and he had even spoken to Lord Stark about it, but he had forbidden him to speak about it until his 15th nameday. It seemed to him that his father had entertained the idea and was willing to speak about it.

He looked upto Lady Stark and saw a look of satisfaction on her face. She wanted to be free from him and her husband had given the choice. Well even he was happy to leave Lady Stark but leaving Arya, Robb, Bran, Sansa, Rickon was the hard choice. He would have to hear his father about what he had to say.

 

**The Quiet Wolf**

 

He stood at the ironwood door of the crypts, with a shovel in his hand, Benjen beside him. He knew he would need a shovel to dig out Lyanna’s strongbox which contained all her items and certificates. He lit the torch that the servant had brought and opened the door. Wind rushed through the door causing him and Benjen to shield their eyes.

“I’ll go inside and dig out the strongbox. Bring Jon to her crypt when he comes here.” He said, as he headed inside walking through the narrow and winding spiral stone staircase towards Lyanna’s tomb. He looked at Lyanna’s stone carved face and thought what he was going to do. He had half a mind to dispel all of this and let Jon remain his bastard but Lyanna’s face swarmed into his mind.

He started digging the land in front of the statue and he heard a thud as he hit the strongbox with the shovel. He placed the strongbox just below the earth, so it would have been easy to dig it out. He sat down on his knees and cleared the earth on the strongbox and saw the handle. He grasped the handle with both his hands and pulled it up. It took a quite a bit of strength, but he had pulled it up.

“Father, what are you doing?” He turned his head and saw the questioning gaze of his son. “Why have you called me here?”

“Today, we will talk about your mother.” He said softly.

There was a look of shock on Jon’s face. Tears had threatened Jon’s eyes. Jon simply nodded.

“There will be a story first and listen to it carefully.” And then he launched into his story which in the end had always made him sad.

_He rode to the Tower of Joy in the Red Mountains of Northern Dorne with six of his most trusted companions. Lord William Dustin, Ser Mark Ryswell, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Howland Reed and himself. He had approached the Tower of Joy, riding hard after lifting the siege on Storm’s End._

_He approached the Tower of Joy but found it guarded by three members of the Kingsgaurd all dressed in their White Armor with their White capes billowing behind them with the wind. Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and Ser Oswell Whent._

_Ser Arthur came and stood in front of them twirling his greatsword, Dawn, and then plunging it onto the ground in between them. Ser Arthur looked at them as if judging them, he nodded, as if in thought, and spoke his first words in the encounter._

_“Lord Stark.”_

_“I looked for you on the Trident.” He said, as a matter of fact._

_“We weren’t there.” Ser Arthur spoke, attesting it._

_“Your friend, The Usurper, would be lying beneath the ground if we had been.” Ser Gerold spoke, cockily._

_“The Mad King is dead. Rhaegar lies beneath the ground. Why weren’t you there to protect your Prince?” He asked them._

_“Our Prince wanted us here.” He answered the question._

_He looked up the Tower of Joy, searching for a sign of Lyanna._

_“Where’s my sister?” He asked Ser Arthur._

_“I wish you good fortune in the wars to come.” Ser Arthur said before the three members of the Kingsgaurd donned their helms. “And now it begins.” He said as the three of the took out their swords and assumed their stances._

_“No, now it ends.” He said, his desire to find his sister overwhelming his senses. He drew his sword as did the other northerners’. And the battle started as Howland Reed attacked Ser Arthur and Theo Wull attacked Ser Gerold. Ser Arthur grazed the crannogmen’s chest which sent to the other side of the battle field. He himself was attacking Ser Arthur while he saw Theo Wull get impaled by Ser Gerold from the periphery of his eyes. Ser Mark Ryswell was battling Ser Oswell and both fought with equal skill until Ser Mark gained the upper hand and stuck his sword in Ser Oswell’s throat._

_Ice and Dawn bot were locked in a fearsome battle as their owners were in a dance to death. Both parried blows and the Valyrian sword and the sword from the star core were evenly matched. He saw Ethan Glover and Lord Dustin fighting Ser Gerold until they impaled him in his chest and stomach. Then all of them came and formed a circle around Ser Arthur. Ser Arthur showed both his swords to the circle. Ser Mark and Martyn Cassel attacked Ser Arthur but were cut down in an instant by the Sword of the Morning. Ethan Glover and Lord Dustin attacked Ser Arthur but perished by their hands. The only people left were Howland and he himself. Howland was lying there in pain, so with no help he attacked Ser Arthur and instead of being cut down they were exchanging blows. By Ser Arthur’s fighting skills, he knew that Ser Arthur was far better than him. Between the fighting Ser Arthur used a trick and disarmed him. He waited for the killing blow to come but it never came, instead there was Howland behind Ser Arthur’s back clutching a knife that was imbedded inside Ser Arthur’s throat. He picked up Ice and delivered the killing blow to Ser Arthur._

_He heard a scream from the tower and he assumed that it could only be Lyanna. He picked up Dawn with him and ran towards the tower, climbed the stairs until he reached the door. He forced open the door and found a pale form of Lyanna on the bed there. The smell that accompanied was the smell of blood and roses._

_“Ned?” Questioned the dying form of his sister._

_“Lyanna.” He hurried towards her and propped up Ice and Dawn on the edge of the bed and sat down beside her._

_“Is that you?” She asked. Her sweaty face met mine. “Is that really you?” She asked again. He jerked his head. Her hand rose from beside her and I clutched it. One had was on her head stroking her hairs._

_“You’re not a dream?” She gave a smile which made him happy._

_“No, I’m not a dream.” He still smiled. “I’m here. Right here.” He said._

_“I’ve missed you big brother.”_

_Tears threatened to pour out of his eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” He gulped down the bile building in his throat._

_“I want to be brave Ned,” She said tears pouring on her skin, “but I’m not.”_

_He touched the blood on the furs and it stuck on his fingers. He looked at his hand and fear dawned on him._

_“I don’t want to die.”_

_“You’re not going to die.” He looked at mid-wife standing at the door. “Get her some water….”_

_“No, not water, just listen…”_

_“Is there a Maester…”_

_“Listen to me Ned.” He looked at her, and she pulled him close to her mouth. “His name is Jaehaerys Targaryen. All documents are in that strongbox along with my Targaryen and Stark cloaks, Rhaegar’s harp, a locket and letters. If Robert finds out he’ll kill him. Protect him Ned. Promise me Ned. Promise me.” Her sobs came with a stronger force now._

_He stood up and went to the crib. He picked up the baby from the crib. It had only been a few hours since Jaehaerys Targaryen had been born. The baby had wisps of dark brown hair and when the child opened its eyes they were a startling grey. The same as Lyanna’s._

_“What will you do with the child Ned?” Howland Reed’s voice spoke from the door._

_“I’ll honor my promise. The child has Stark coloring. I’ll take him as my bastard. Aye, it will be a tough life for him but at least he will live and not end up like his half-brother and sister.”_

_“And what will you name him? You can’t keep calling him Jaehaerys.”_

_“I’ll name him Jon. Jon Snow. My bastard. I want you to keep this a secret Howland?”_

_“Anything for Lady Lyanna or Princess Lyanna. I’ll keep this as a secret until even after my death.”_

_“Thank You Howland. And I want you to take this strongbox with you and lock it. Throw the key somewhere in the ocean. I’ll collect from Greywater Watch on my return back North.”_

Jon was silent, just like his wolf. He slowly moved his head and looked at Lyanna’s statue and said the word, “Mother.”

“This is the strongbox that contains all that belonged to Lyanna and Rhaegar.” He struck at the lock with a shovel and the lock broke. “You should have a look of what’s inside.”

“Are there any other Targaryen’s alive in the world leaving me, Lord Stark.” Jon asked. It broke his heart that Jon had called him Lord Stark instead of father.

“Yes, Jon there are. Your aunt Daenerys and uncle Viserys are in Pentos right now.” He answered to him.

“Oh! and don’t forget, your……” He tapped his finger to chin quite a few times and exclaimed “your great-great-great-uncle Maester Aemon, previously Prince Aemon of House Targaryen, at Castle Black.” Uncle Benjen said.

“Thank you, uncles, but I wish to spend time with my mother for now.” Jon said.

He and Benjen moved up the staircase out of the ironwood door of the crypts. He was broken now, after he told Jon who is parents were. He decided to share it with Benjen.

“He called me uncle, Ben and it broke me down. The child I raised as a son left me and went after his blood-father. A man he didn’t even know……. It broke me down Ben… when he called me uncle.” He said, sad and somber.

“He’ll call you his father after some time again. He just heard you tell him that his mother was beneath Winterfell all this time. It’s too much for him to process. He’ll call you father once again.” Ben said, consoling him.

 **The Hidden Dragon**

 

Jon stood there for hours or that’s what he thought. He looked at face of his mother. A mother he had never known. A mother who had made her elder brother promise to keep him safe from Robert Baratheon in her dying breaths. Robert Baratheon the man who killed his father, and half-siblings. The King who stole his throne. Who wanted to end the whole Targaryen dynasty because he loved a woman who loved another and had eloped with the man. He tried to think what his mother would have looked like. The long face of the Starks with dark-brown hair and grey eyes. Just like him.

He looked back at the strongbox and entertained the idea of opening it. In the end curiosity got the better of him and he opened the box. Inside were a bunch of letters which contained the seals of both Houses Targaryen and Stark.

There was his father’s harp. Silver with a three headed dragon on the top, each mouth containing a perfect round ruby and with a direwolf on the bottom whose mouth had a perfect round sapphire. The tuners designed in the shape of spear heads which could be easily twisted and turned to tune the harp. He plucked at the harp which gave a sweet sound in the gloomy background of the crypts.

Next came three sheets of parchments all sealed with the three headed dragons of House Targaryen. He left them alone because he wanted to read them after he saw the other contents of the box. Sadly, the only contents left were cloaks.

He pulled out the first cloak and inspected it. It was white in color with a running grey direwolf on it. It was grubby just like the other cloak, but he knew its importance.

_Mother’s nuptial cloak._

The second cloak however, was black in color with a three headed dragon on it. This cloak also gave a feeling of warmth just as the first one.

_Mother’s cloak after her marriage to Father._

As he picked up the cloak wanting to place it back in the box he saw something shiny in its left corner. He picked it up and saw a locket. The locket itself was made of Valyrian steel giving it the same smoky and hazy appearance as the swords had. The patterns of blending were quite different. Instead of the normal star and wave patterns the patterns were of flames. The chain however was silver in color. I opened the locket to see two portraits blinking back at me. One was of my mother and father laughing together. The both had crowns on their heads. Father’s crown was gold wrought with red rubies and Mother’s crown was silver wrought with blue sapphires. The other was of them kissing each other.

He was happy that my mother and father loved each other, and his father had not kidnapped his mother and raped her as the stories said. He took the locket and wore it around his head wanting his mother and father to be close to him and his heart. He then picked up the three pieces of parchments and below his others statue. He broke the seal of the first parchment that came to his hand.   

_These are the annulment papers between Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir-Apparent to the Iron Throne and Princess Elia Martell of Dorne. By signing these papers their marriage is effectively annulled in the eyes of the seven and this is to be recorded as such by the Citadel._

True to the annulment papers the signatures of father and Princess Elia were there. He then picked up the second parchment and broke its seal.

_The names of the first children, of both sexes, borne from the holy union of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark will be as such:_

_If the child is a male he will be named Jaehaerys Targaryen, the third of his name, Heir to Dragonstone and the Iron Throne._

_If the child is a female she will be named Visenya Targaryen, Heir to Dragonstone and the Iron Throne until as such a male is born._

He picked up the last parchment and broke its seal.

_These are papers of marriage between Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir-Apparent to the Iron Throne and Lady Lyanna Stark, daughter to the Warden of North. By signing these papers, they have effectively married each other in law as well as in front of the seven. It is to be recorded by the citadel that the marriage has been taken place._

And the signatures of his mother and father were there. He had proof of the marriage between his parents and that he was not some bastard. He felt giddy at the thought that Lady Stark had insulted a Targaryen prince and not some lowly bastard that she thought he was.

Jaehaerys Targaryen…

Jaehaerys Targaryen, the name sounded strange on his tongue after years as he had always called himself Jon Snow. He was debating on whether to call himself Jon Snow or Jaehaerys Targaryen. Jon Snow had a life free of the Targaryen heritage that would attract the attention of Robert Baratheon which would lead him to be killed. Jaehaerys Targaryen had a name which was still respected amongst the Lords in Westeros. Jaehaerys Targaryen was the Blood of the Dragon and First Men while Jon Snow had the Blood of the First Men and unknown. Many more arguments were made and Jaehaerys Targaryen quickly found his way to victory.

“Jaehaerys III Targaryen it is.” He said in a whisper to the winds in the crypt confirming the identity his parents had given him and discarded the one that Lord Stark had given him.

Unbeknownst to him his eyes a flashed wine in color making way for his Valyrian features to end the Stark features that the magic in his veins had cast to protect him the Heir to the Dragonlords of Valyria.

He picked up the cloaks and laid them on the grounds one above the other the Targaryen on being below. He placed all the letters and letters of recognition in the cloaks. He bundled up it up and propped it on his others statue. He placed the strongbox back and covered it up with the dug-up earth.

He took the bundle and his father’s harp and made up to his room in the keep. On the way he decided he had best leave Winterfell and meet Aemon Targaryen up in Castle Black and then head all the way to Pentos to meet his other blood. He even thought that he could be killed on his travels and only one thing came to his mind.

_You’re a dragon and dragons survive and kill._

He started packing up things for his travels. He snuck into the kitchens and brought some loaves of bread and filled up to ten skinks full of water. After packing everything including the possessions he recently had acquired. He decided that he would leave tomorrow at first light.

He then sat on his bed and picked up his harp and played a song about the Dragon Prince and the She-Wolf of Winterfell. The sad tunes led him to sleep. That night he had a dream that most would comment it as absurd.

_He was in a room which smelled of blood and roses. Outside the heat was unbearable. He could see a bed on which sat a woman pale. She had dark brown hair and was breathing heavily. He identified her as his mother. That meant the child in the crib was him._

_The child clearly had the silver-gold hair of his father, eyes the color of wine, and the face was angular and had a pale face. The child was not him. Could it be that he had a twin that died before? No, Lord Stark’s story clearly didn’t mention another child. This was him, but he did not have his Stark features. Slowly but carefully he noticed the changes happening to the child._

_The hair was turning from silver-gold to dark brown and the eyes were changing from wine to grey, the face was becoming longer and rounder, but the skin color remained pale. This was him. He remembered that valyrian’s had magic in their veins. Could it be that the magic in his veins distorted his appearance, so he could live? After all the Targaryen colors had become a death sentence the immediate moment. That was the most logical solution. Did that mean that the silver and wine would once again come, and his Stark face would disappear._

With these thoughts he was wrenched out of his dream opening his eyes to the first rays of the sun hitting his face beckoning him to go to his adventure to find his family.

**The Exiled Dragon**

 

Daenerys Targaryen hated her birthday. Viserys, her brother, had never failed to remind her that how good it would have been if they had been in Westeros. How good it would have been if she had been born earlier so that Rhaegar would have married her and not run after the Stark slut.

She heard a knock on her door. No, the door of one of the rooms of Illyrio’s manse. She never had got her head around why Illyrio wanted to help them. They had nothing that they could give to the one of the magisters of Pentos. Viserys, like a fool, thought that Illyrio knew that he was supporting the rightful royal dynasty of Westeros and that he would be rewarded when they would reclaim their position. She knew that Illyrio Mopatis had an ulterior motive and she only had to find it.

She opened the door to find the slaves waiting outside with a gown of silk, the color of plum. Oh! How she detested slavery. She wished she could abolish it, but she couldn’t. She did not have that kind of power that would allow her to destroy slavery. True, Pentos had become a free city in name, but the servants were slaves. She wondered how little wage they got as servants and how often they got bedded by her brother and other guests.

She allowed her servants to undress her and they led her to her bath which was scalding hot as she preferred it.

She looked at herself in the mirror in the bathroom. She had a proper valyrian face and pale skin with violet eyes and silver-gold hair. She had full red lips and her hair was curly which reached to her thin waist. Her breasts were small but perfectly round with nipples the color of strawberries. Her hips were wide enough to be called womanly and her mound was covered with curly silver hair.

She stepped in the bath and let her handmaidens wash her down clean. After the long bath she was dried and was eased into the dress that Magister Illyrio had sent her. No matter what Magister Illyrio had wanted his gifts to her were extravagant, so were the dresses he had sent to her. And at the very moment pranced in a face she wanted to see the least. It was Viserys.

“Out.” He screeched to servants, who scurried out not meeting his eye. He approached her like a peacock.

“You look beautiful little sister.” He said with a sneer, “Come your nameday feast awaits you.” He offered his arm to her and she reluctantly took it. He guided her to the hall where they would have her nameday feast.

Illyrio was waiting there, with delicacies on the table.

“Good morning Princess,” He said with a smile, “you look beautiful as always.”

At the comment, Viserys dug his finger nails into her skin. She knew it was because Illyrio had outdone Viserys by commenting on her. They sat on the table and Viserys finally left her arm alone. She could see the angry nail marks on her arm. She was angry at what he did but she couldn’t scream, shout or hit him because she was afraid of waking the dragon. So, she remained silent. During the whole feast she preferred to focus on the Honey Chicken and a Boar with an apple in its mouth, skin seared crisp and the Iced milk sweetened with honey. Viserys meanwhile was feasting heavily and drinking a lot of Summerwine. Soon his voice began to slur, and his hands started to roam inappropriately on the bodies of the servants. The thought what he did to them in his bed gave her creeps.

As the feast came to an end the gifts were brought out. Viserys had given her clothes of purple and maroon velvets and golden Myrish lace woven in intricate patterns. These were no doubt from Illyrio’s purse as Viserys couldn’t have afforded these things.

The second came from Lord Daeron, a family friend of theirs. He had gifted her bodices and skirts in the colors of house Targaryen and different colors as well. Each of the bodices were studded with jewels. He also gifted her a book about Aegon the Conqueror. She loved the book she loved to read and lose herself in the pages describing intricate plots of Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses and many other people.

When she stood up she was stopped by Illyrio. “My Princess, where are you going? My gift is still left.” He said in a sweet voice. She saw the servants bring in a box and the place it on the table. Illyrio walked over to the box.

“Princess Daenerys, I present you the legacy of house Targaryen and the Dragonlords of Valyria, three dragon eggs. With years they have become petrified and still but are still considered a jewel.” He said, opening the box.

The eggs were sitting on purple cushions. The first on was black with swirls the color of currant. The second was emerald with swirls the color of bronze. The last was cream with swirls of gold. She was speechless.

“Thank you, Magister, this is one of the best birthday gifts ever.” She said flashing him a smile expressing her gratitude. Viserys finally came back to his senses and did one thing he was best at. He screeched.

“How dare you! These eggs should have been mine! I would have sold them and brought an army. Instead you gift these to this foolish little girl who doesn’t know their value.” He said standing up knocking down the chair sat on.

He looked at her his lilac eyes dilated. “Give them here sister, now.” He screamed at her.

“Now, now my prince, Lord Daeron would be most displeased if he hears that you have taken your sisters gifts.” Illyrio said politely.

The words seemed to have knocked some sense into Viserys’s thick skull. He huffed angrily and left towards the direction of his room. She looked thankfully towards the Magister. She picked up the eggs herself and let the servants take the other gifts to her room. Placing the eggs on the bedside table she then took the book and began to read it losing herself in the pages describing the conquest of Aegon the Conqueror.

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

 

[Eddard Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/0/0a/Eddard_Amoka.jpg)

[Benjen Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/0/0f/Benjen_Stark.jpg)

[Jon Snow](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/8/81/Magali_Villeneuve_JonSnowGhostpuppy.jpg)

[Arthur Dayne](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/6/65/Ser_Arthur_Dayne_by_henning.jpg)

[Lyanna Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/79/Hallmarccus_Lyanna.jpg)

[Daenerys Targaryen](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/8/82/Rhaenys.jpg)

[Illyrio Mopatis](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/2/29/Illyrio_Mopatis_by_Amoka.jpg)

 


	2. CH2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE LOST DRAGON POV :after two weeks of THE HIDDEN DRAGON POV.  
> THE QUIET WOLF POV :after a week of last THE QUIET WOLF POV.  
> THE 'DEAD' DRAGON: two days after THE LAST DRAGON POV.  
> THE QUIET WOLF POV: two weeks after above mentioned THE QUIET WOLF POV(CH2).  
> THE LOST DRAGON POV: two and a half weeks after the above mentioned THE LOST DRAGON POV(CH2)  
> THE YOUNG DIREWOLF: five days after THE LOST DRAGON POV(CH2 Part2)

**The Lost Dragon**

It had taken nearly two weeks to travel between Winterfell and Castle Black. The travelling had been easy because of the strong horse he had stolen from the stables letting him cover a good distance and because of Ghost and him. He and ghost used to go and bring food usually small rabbits and ghost had always won because seeing the brown rabbits in the growth was difficult. Still he had brought a fair share of rabbits. The ration and the water skins had depleted in the first week of travel, so he had to look for ponds to drink water and fill water again.

After the long and hard ride, he saw the massive, booming wall in front of him. It was a massive structure fully made of ice, stone and earth. Legends had said that Brandon the Builder, the first King of Winter, had constructed the wall using giants and mammoths and used magic and runes of the old tongue to bind the stones to stop magical creatures, like the others, from entering the realm. He knew how Brandon the Builder had used Giants and Mammoths. He was a Warg, a Skinchanger. He knew this because he was one himself. He used to warg into Ghost and had aptly named them wolf-dreams. After he had figured it out he tried it when he was still awake. The results were not like he wanted to be but had considerably gotten better. Ghost was now the size of a small wolf and had started to hunt for bigger creatures.

At times he had looked into a pond and saw his face. The stark face had completely gone away and he had a much more beautiful and unearthly valyrian face. The high cheekbones, the pale skin, the slanted eyebrows and the large forehead. Whenever he went to some town the women over there would look at him and blush. A few days prior not a single stark feature was present on his face. Even his eyes had started to change, and the grey was returning into the corners while the purple shade of wine came forward. The transition was painless but slow. By the time he reached the wall the grey was still present in great quantities, while the wine was in less. His hair however had not changed at all. It was still raven in color, but he knew it would change after some time because even as a baby he had the Targaryen hair. He had even crafted himself and identity. Jae Sand. He had had been a bastard in name for a long a long time. A few weeks would not hurt him.

He also had different dreams. Dreams of meeting his father. His father playing his mother a song. A song he said, he made especially for her.

As he neared the gates of castle black he heard the sound of a horn and the gates of Castle Black opened to welcome him in. he trotted into the courtyard where he saw the brothers of the watch practicing their sword play. He had heard the story about the nights watch. How honorable men had manned the wall and how that had been reduced to rapers, poachers, and thieves. He could hear the mutterings of men.

One man boldly asked him, “Are you her to take the black, Ser.”

“I’ve come here to meet Maester Aemon, and I am no Ser.” He said coolly.

“The Maester is attending more visitors that the Wall is.” One grunted.

“Aye, while one is already staying here, another comes to meet him.” The second one grunted.

Another man came forward. He had the look of a knight. He looked at him and asked him, “Who are you and why have you come here?”

He replied indifferently to the knight. “My name is Jae Sand and my grand-uncle has sent me here to meet him. He was a friend of Maester Aemon.”

He nodded at me and the looked towards the side and muttered something to the brother beside him. The brother ran and called someone. The person who came was one of the most hideous persons I had met. He had a red face covered with boils and had a large cyst on his neck.

“This is Chett. He will take you to Maester Aemon.” The knight said.

I got down of the horse and the man, Chett guided me to uncle Aemon’s solar.

“Maester Aemon someone is here to meet you.” Chett spoke.

The man in front of him was his uncle. His looks betrayed his age. He must have been well above a hundred years old. He was thin and looked sickly. The lilac had been taken away from his eyes and had been replaced with the white of cataracts and he had become blinded. His uncle beckoned him closer so, he took a chair and sat down beside him.

“Maester Aemon, I need to speak with you privately, if possible.” He said politely to his uncle.

“Chett.” He asked for his steward.

“I’m right here Maester.”

“Please, leave us.” Aemon said and Chett left them. Only after Chett left he started to think what he was going to tell his uncle.

“M-Maester,” he stammered, “forgive me for intruding upon like this but this something that needed to talked face to face and could not be sent by a raven.”

“Maester I was born amidst the sands of Dorne. My mother was Lady Lyanna, of House Stark, and my father was……,” he wanted to say but couldn’t find the words. He gathered up his courage and spoke it. “My father was Rhaegar Targaryen. I even have documents to prove it along with a locket and my father’s harp. I even have by mother’s nuptial and wedding cloak with me if you want proof.” He had spoken the last part in a hurry.

Aemon’s hand reached and touched my face. Even in such an old age and in such a frigid place warmth was present in his hand. I leaned into his touch which felt so familiar even though he had never experienced it before.

_A grandfather’s touch._

His other hand came up and started exploring his face. He gathered that this was how he used to get to know about a person.

“You have a valyrian face. Do tell me your coloring?” He asked inquisitively.

“I had the Stark coloring.” I answered truthfully.

“Had the Stark coloring.”

Uncle Aemon was very inquisitive and observant.

“Yes. I had a dream. A dragon dream, I think, like Daenys the Dreamer had. But it was about the past. It showed me that when I was born I had the classic Targaryen features. The eyes however were a purple shade of wine. Slowly but gradually my hair and eye color changed along with my face to resemble the Starks. It was until that night that Lord Stark told me who I was. After that on the way, my face has completely changed, and my eyes are changing. I think in a week or two I will resemble the Targaryen’s completely.”

He nodded at it as if he understood it. “Magic. It is present in the blood of all Valyrian’s.”

“What do you call yourself now days.”

“The name my parents gave me is Jaehaerys III Targaryen but I prefer to be called Jae nowadays. As a nickname of course.”

“You aren’t going to ask for some confirmation?” He asked, raising my brow.

“I knew you were a Targaryen the moment you walked through that door. Which one that I didn’t. Now I do.”

“How…” he started asking but Aemon cut it.

“Magic. It was why I was driven away. All because of my blood. The blood of Old Valyria which has everything rooted in Fire and Blood. Because of the magic present in my blood.” He commented sorrowfully. “I do not regret being here on the wall because being here has only cemented my beliefs’ of magic still being present. The Wall is a living proof.”

“Anyway, why would you want to listen to the ramblings of an old man.”

“No, uncle Aemon, I would love to listen to your counsel. It would be valuable to me as would my sword. After all the only battles fought are not only on the battlefield.” Uncle smiled at this.

“It seems that you have a budding politician in you as well Jae. Anyhow let me make you meet someone. He is as close to me as he would be to you. Would you help this old man get up?”

He hastily stood up and helped uncle Aemon get up. Aemon took his cane and they started walking towards his private chambers. The chambers were sparsely decorated. There was bed, a table where Uncle Aemon kept his things and a hearth which was roaring with flames. What caught his eye was another man in the chambers. He was young, maybe, around thirty but what really caught his eye was the massive gape on his chest. his eyes were instinctively drawn to the man’s eyes. They were indigo in color.

_The same color that my father had._

“Jaehaerys, I present you Rhaegar Targaryen, your father.” He half-whispered to him.

“And Rhaegar, I present you Jaehaerys Targaryen, your son with Lyanna Stark.” He half-whispered again.

There was an eerie silence which was broken by them shouting ‘Father’ and ‘Son’ at each other quizzically.

**The Quiet Wolf**

Jon had left after he told him the truth. It had come as a shocking blow to him. He had men sent to search for him, but Jon was nowhere to be found. He had blamed all of this on himself that he told Jon and Jon had left him. He was angry, bitter, and a host of other emotions flowed through him. The child he had raised gone. Even dead Rhaegar seemed to have stolen Jon right under his grasp. Rhaegar had even bested Robert. Dead and he was the one who got Lyanna. He had sent raven to the Lords of every house in the north to look for and if they found him to keep him there until he came. Even after a week there had been no report of Jon. All of that had been pushed back to his mind with him attending the king and his court.

Robert had changed for the bad. He was all fat and he could not see the ‘Demon of the Trident’ as people called him. He used to drink a lot and his face was all red. He had grown a wild black beard. He was not the person he had grown up with.

The very first thing that Robert did after he arrived here was paying respects to Lyanna. He so had wanted to shout at Robert that Lyanna did not love him. She loved Rhaegar and had eloped with him and that they had a child. But he knew that he could not do that without letting Robert know his secret. Robert had also asked him to become his hand. Sure, the position would appeal a number of lords, but the position meant little to him. The last Stark who served as hand of the King was Lord Cregan Stark serving to Aegon III Targaryen. He was reluctant to accept it and Catelyn had supported him, but Sansa had pressured him into accepting it.

Sansa had brought up another topic of a betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa. Robert had asked him, and he had said that he wanted to ask Sansa about it. Sansa had accepted it without a moment’s hesitation. Robb seemed to dislike Joffrey a lot and so did he. The boy looked more Lannister and less Baratheon. Well, he looked full Lannister and no Baratheon.

Today however he and Robert were sitting in the courtyard watching a fight between Robb and Joffrey. The boys had, had a spat yesterday. Well Joffrey was screeching, but Robb had kept a cool and impassive face. He was proud of his boy at that moment. Robert had suggested that they decide who was right by fighting each other in the courtyard tomorrow with live steel. The notion had made a chorus of aye’s and here he was now sitting and watching as the Robb got ready for his faceoff with Joffrey with the whole of kings party and half the Winterfell watching.

The two boys came out wearing their armor. Robb was wearing the customary boiled leather armor with mail, greaves and gloves, while the price was wearing his fashionable golden armor with rubies on his breastplate. Joffrey had a sword strapped to his side. The sword itself had gleaming blue steel, was castle-forged, double-edged with a gold lion’s pommel. The longsword was proportioned to fit a twelve-year old’s hand.

Robb on the other hand had a sword strapped to his back which was taller than him. He took it out of the sheath and the people around him gasped at him. There was Ice in all its mighty glory, the blade itself was drinking in the sunlight around it with its smoky and hazy appearance. Then also, he could see an addition to it. The pommel of Ice had been replaced with a large head of a wolf with chips of topaz as its eyes.

_Grey Wind. The wolf head was resemblance to Grey Wind and it was bigger to resemble the head of a direwolf._

“You gave him _Ice_?” Asked Catelyn, her eyes blazing with fury.

“Aye. The Heir to Winterfell always trains with a Greatsword and Robb has been practicing with a Greatsword the same size of Ice but heavier than it. I’ve seen him wield that with ease, Ice is nothing compared to it in weight.” He calmly explained to her. He wanted to see how his kid would fare with it in a battle.

He could see Cersei muttering to Robert about him giving Ice to Robb. Why couldn’t they wrap their heads that, yes, he had given it to him.

“The boys agreed to fight with live steel and Ned gave his son the ancestral sword to fight. Now shut up you damn woman.” He looked at the courtyard and spoke, “Let the fight begin.”

“Why aren’t you wearing your helm, Stark?” The prince asked Robb, fear and doubt evident in his voice. No doubt from Ice.

“We northerners, unlike you southerners, don’t wear a helm, your grace.” Robb said impassively.

“This duel will continue till one of you yields or is thrown out of the ring.” Ser Rodrik’s voice cut the dense silence that surrounded the courtyard. Both of them nodded at that. Ser Rodrik then shouted, “Begin.”

Joffrey charged at Robb swinging his sword with all his might and Robb side-stepped it. Joffrey then went wilder, slashing, stabbing, and all of it but Robb parried it all away.

“Attack Robb show him what the north is made of.” Screamed Arya, cheering for her brother.

Robb looked at her and then smiled, promising her with the smile he would show what the north was and much more. Then Robb pushed back slashing and stabbing at the price who had no choice but to go back considering the sword’s exceptional reach. Soon enough he had Joffrey on the floor with Ice pressed on his throat.

“P-P-Please, please don’t. I-I-I yield.” Joffrey said stammering and squealing like a pig.

The result of today’s match had been declared. The direwolf had beaten the lion. He could see Robb muttering something in Joffrey’s ear. Joffrey was shit scared when he saw Cersei shove Robb and cooed to Joffrey. he saw Robb coming towards them. He went away and clapped his son’s back affectionately.

“You did well. You’ve made all the Starks proud today.” He said. Robb took off Ice and handed it back to him. He instead pressed it back in his hand. “Ice was never meant to be mine, but it is meant to be yours. Brandon trained with a greatsword for most of his life and I preferred a longsword. I still prefer a longsword, but you deserve Ice. Keep it. And I like the new pommel.”

Arya came out of nowhere and hugged Robb tightly. She was telling how good he was and with how ease he handled Joffrey and Ice both. Robb was grinning like an idiot while hearing her praises.

“What did you say to him after the match.” This poked his interest too. He wanted to know.

“A lion may be the king of the jungle, and a stag may be fast, but no one either questions or outruns a direwolf.”

Pride shone clearly in his eyes though he didn’t know if Robb saw it or not. At that very moment a crying Sansa come and shouting at Robb.

“It is because of you. All because of you. The prince is not talking to me, the queen is not talking to me, Joffrey probably hates me. All because of you. If you had let him win, it would not have happened.”

“So, what. I just forsake my honor like that. Just so that you could get all comfortable with your prince. He agreed to it and he lost. And anyhow, who is your family. Us or that baby prince of yours.” Robb snapped at Sansa and continued. “Tell me Sansa.”

“You are, but Joffrey is my betroth.” Sansa said, timidly.

“Everything before the word ‘but’ is horse-shit.” Robb said.

“When the snows fall, and the white winds blow…., what comes after that.”

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” Sansa said.

“Do you want to be the lone wolf and die, Sansa, or will you stay with the pack. Always remember, Family first in any situation.” Robb said.

At that moment he had been proud of his boy. He was all a father could hope for.

_All and more._

**The ‘Dead’ Dragon**

Rhaegar Targaryen had not been it his best of shape from the day he had been healed by the fire priest. He remembered the fight all well. Robert and He both were perched atop horses, Robert swinging his hammer wildly while he parried blows. He had even landed cuts on Baratheon’s body, but the man was unrelenting. In the end Baratheon had finally hit him with his hammer and crushed his chest. Only one name came to his mind.

_Lyanna._

He thought he was dead until he awoke at the dwelling of a red priest. The priest that his time was not over, and he would live to see another day but would not be able to fight because of the blow that his chest took. The priest told him that all his ribs were broken some even puncturing his lugs. He even asked how many days he had been here. 1 year the man had replied. He left the humble abode of the man creating a new identity for himself.

_Lord Daeron._

He had retired himself away from Westeros. All the politics and wars and alliances. He left all of it and went to Lys. From Lys he travelled all of the nine free cities. It was at the time of him travelling Pentos that he heard of two Targaryen children being hosted by Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He had confronted them and revealed his identity. He was happy to see his sister Daenerys and his little brother Viserys.

Daenerys was a hearty little girl who loved books and she could sing very well. Viserys on the other hand become bitter and cruel. He could see the mad streak of his father clearly imprinted on his character. After he had enough money he planned to visit Maester Aemon in Castle Black.

During the go and forth between to Maester Aemon he had also found the legendary blade of the Targaryens’.

_Blackfyre._

The legendary hand and half longsword was used by Aegon the Conqueror to bind the previously broken Seven Kingdoms. Even though he had united Six of the Kingdoms. That in itself was an incredible feat. He thought that he would present Viserys with the blade after he grew but Viserys seemed to only disappoint him. Soon he thought of not giving the blade to Viserys.

Instead of all of those things his thoughts were currently diverted towards the child sleeping beside him. He looked so peaceful and beautiful. A child befitting the Flames of Valyria. One of the last embers of Old Valyria.

_His and Lyanna’s child. Jaehaerys Targaryen._

He had a crown of brown hair and grey eyes, but he had said that they would change and melt into his Valyrian features. For all of Ned Stark’s faults, he was indebted to Lord Stark for keeping his son alive. Today he had become the world’s happiest person. No one could have matched his happiness. The happiness to find his child alive who he thought of being dead with Lyanna.

Tomorrow they would be leaving. They would go beyond the wall to retrieve an object of much importance to House Targaryen. They would go and retrieve Dark Sister. The famous longsword wielded by Visenya Targaryen, and Brynden Rivers, Bloodraven as people called him. Before getting lost in a private ranging north Bloodraven had told his nephew where Dark Sister would reside. Just the thought of going beyond the wall was appealing.

Morning came not much after and Jae and he were dressed in the armor provided by the nights watch. At the last moment he cornered Jae.

“Look, son, I’m not much of a fighter now. Not since Baratheon’s bloody hammer came down on my chest.” He said with conviction.

Jae shrugged at it, “What do you mean father?” He asked.

“It means that you will carry Blackfyre and I will carry your sword. And there will be no more questions. That is an order from your father.” He said with determination.

Jae puffed up his chest with pride in having to carry Blackfyre. The sword was after all Aegon the Conqueror’s. we traded sword and Jae strapped Blackfyre to his waist. They went and stood near one of the tunnels which led them to the wilderness on the opposite side. They just had to go to the Godswood beyond the wall. Aemon had said Dark Sister was lodged in the weirwood.

He looked at the Lord Commander and nodded. He had informed him of the dangers of the wildlings, but he relented when he told him that they would be going only to the Godswood. He looked at Mormont and nodded. The gates opened, and he and Jae went beyond the wall.

After half-a-days walk in the haunted forest amongst the ironwoods, sentinels and oaks they finally reached the Godswood beyond the wall and to say it was not spectacular was false. The weirwood over here was a weirwood even larger and older than the one against which Lyanna and he had married. Both of them were silent before the gods of the north. He turned to his left seeing his son’s eyes closed in lips moving in an inaudible prayer.

_The Gods of North are as much of a part of him as the Gods of Valyria._

When he saw his eyes there was a different light to them. They seemed to glow with power.

“Did Aemon tell you were the sword is?” Jae asked him.

He assumed that Bloodraven might have hidden the sword inside the tree. He shuddered to think what condition it would be in. The roots of the weirwood were inside the dark, hostile waters of the pool.

“It can be inside the tree.” Jae nodded at him.

Jae unbuckled the sword belt that was around his waist and started to take his clothes off. He grabbed his hand as he went to unclasp his cloak.

“What do you think you are doing? Uncloaking yourself in the midst of such cold.” He hissed at his son.

“I am going to take out Dark Sister by jumping in the pond.” Jae answered.

“And how do you know it is there?” He asked.

“The raven was pointing towards it.” Jae quickly continued to prevent any further questions, “The raven was warged into, and I know how it is warged because I myself can warg into Ghost and I saw the same look in its eyes.”

“Fine.” He relented. Jae took off his boots and tunic. He was impressed. The physique of his fifteen-year-old son was no doubt impressive. A rock-hard abdomen and strong pectorals. His body was lean but filled with muscle. Jae dived into the lake. He looked hard to see where he was, but it was impossible to figure it out in the dark waters of the pond. A hand came up and put a sword on the ice beside it. Jae came up gasping for breath, shivering from the cold waters and the winds. He picked up the sword and ran his eyes through its length.

_Valyrian Steel._

He held the legendary blade of Visenya Targaryen in his hands. He was overjoyed at it. He had found it. No, they had found it. But it was in a horrible condition.

**The Quiet Wolf**

Eddard Stark sat at the horse prepared for him, looking back at the grey looming walls of his home, Winterfell. He could see the faint outline of his son and the outline of a sword even bigger than his son. _Ice_ , he thought. He had left the Valyrian greatsword of the Starks in capable hands. He still didn’t feel like he should have left Winterfell. Inside the walls he felt home, that was half the truth. The other half was more terrible than that. Someone had pushed his son Bran out of the broken tower.

Brandon like all his other children except Arya and Jon favored the Tully colouring. Bran was not meek just a little shy, but the boy could climb like no other man could. He had seen him climbing and he had even scolded him too. Bran was always quick on his feet and he had no doubt that he had mapped the castle walls more time than he himself could remember. He sensed someone else at work. Somebody had pushed Bran out of the window. He just couldn’t figure who. Why would someone need to push a nine-year-old boy? Why? Why? Why? The question just kept ringing in his mind.

They had found Bran near the broken tower due to his direwolf’s constant howling after the hunt. The people had immediately rushed him to his chambers with Maester Luwin in tow. Cat had shortly come after him and was followed by the girls. All of his family had shed tears that day and Robert had done his best to offer him words of comfort. Cat had never left Bran’s side till now eating very little. He closed his eyes trying to remember how Bran looked the last he had seen him. All his mind could conjure was of Bran’s broken body on his bed, his left hand held between Catelyn’s soft hands. His face looked at peace as he was one and not broken like he really was. There was a strange sense of peace and serenity around him, but he could smell the anger too. Hidden beneath the false layers the anger was present in palpable waves. He was angry at the person who had thrown him from the tower.

He gripped at the pommel of his longsword and turned his horse and started riding for the kings party. He had accepted this, and it had become his duty and he would fulfill his duty even it meant staying away from home.    

**The Lost Dragon**

They were riding through the thick undergrowth of the wolf's wood towards Winterfell. His father and he had wanted to their wife and mother, respectively. Jae himself had wanted to leave a message to Robb, in the crypts describing his run-off but he in the letter he was clever enough to leave the topic of his father being alive. He was desperate enough to meet his Targaryen side of the family as he had grown up with the Starks. On the way they also had to hide from the men of the night's watch and the new recruits. He had seen Uncle Benjen with them and he was disappointed that he could not meet him for the final time, until he came to Westeros.

All the body hairs he had, including the ones around his cock, had turned silver-gold but a few hairs still had black roots. He had dyed his hair black like his father as to avoid getting caught. On the way to Winterfell he had heard snaps of many incidents and one them was the falling of Bran from the broken tower and how he would never wake up. He had been in an emotional turmoil that night and shouldn't he have been? His brother had fallen from a tower most probably never to wake up. Today was different.

He had strapped Blackfyre, in its sheath, to his waist, it was only a few inches shorter than Ice, shorter than him by three inches. His father however had Dark Sister strapped, in its sheath, to his waist. The blade, though still sharp, had an assortment of twigs glued to it by ice. Only after they had come to back to Castle black did Uncle Aemon tell us to dip it in hot water and clean it with an oil cloth. Since then both of them had carried an oil cloth with them.

After an hour of walking in the wolf's wood the grey granite walls of Winterfell loomed ahead of them. He was jovial, looking at the walls of Winterfell. They approached the Hunter's gate, it was nearest to them, while Ghost roamed outside as he would certainly make Robb come to them.

"Hey, look more hunters'." One guard said snobbishly. The guards had certainly changed since he had left.

"Aye, one with fancy swords too." The other laughed.

"We have a meeting with Lord Robb, and I don't think he would be pleased when he realises that his guards kept us late." He said impatiently.

"And who might you be then." The guard said derisively. He was starting to get on his head.

"We are from Karhold and Lord Karstark has sent us specially to deliver this message." He snapped at them. The guards’, eyes held the particular emotion that he wanted them to have. They opened the gate and let us through. We walked till the end of the courtyard, near the kennels. The kennel master, Farlen, was there tending to the dogs. The two direwolves were there in a secluded corner where no one wanted to go. Even with being so far from the hunting dogs they still produced the wanted fear in the eyes of the dogs. he could spot Grey Wind with his smoky fur and Shaggydog with his black one but he could not find Bran's direwolf.

"Last I heard, there were three direwolves in Winterfell with two heading south. I only see two." Father questioned, rhetorically. Even I had had my doubts of where Bran's direwolf would be. I shrugged it off. We crossed the guest house and arrived at the armory.

I could see Mikken working in the armory, as usual, covered with soot, dust and sweat. He was in the process of making a sword. We walked inside the armory and Mikken looked towards us.

"Can we borrow a shovel. We need to dig up something outside in the woods." He asked in a clipped tone. Mikken nodded tersely at us and we then grabbed the shovel and walked out of the door. They were headed towards the crypts the views in between making his mind catapult back in time. They arrived at the door, after what felt like hours. He was really preoccupied with drinking the sights of Winterfell which he was not going to see for a long time. They opened the door to the crypts and made their journey down the crypts seeing the dead Winter Kings and the Lords of Winterfell until they arrived at the crypt. The most dreaded crypt for them, his father and him. He could feel the soft mushy ground which had been dug up a month ago. Both of them bowed their heads in remembrance, trying to occupy their minds with every little thought of hers.

He picked up the shovel and thudded the ground. Once. Twice. Then he finally started to dig it up until he reached the strongbox. He looked at the indigo eyes of his father asking for help to remove the strogbox. His father bent down, picked up one of the ledges while he picked up the other. Together grunting, huffing and puffing the brought out the box and opened it. His eyes met his father’s asking him a question.His father nodded to unspoken question and he brought the contents from the satchel.

He got a last look at the cloak’s that had kept him warm during the whole journey to Castle Black. He remembered their scent trying to commit it to his memory and the he laid them inside the box. Next came the documents. The proof to his identity. His father and he both had agreed that this was the safest place for something as delicate as this. Placing them both inside the box they kept it back at its rightful place and buried it.

At the end he placed a letter for Robb, on the base of his mother’s statue. A letter with the seal of House Targaryen. A seal which had not been used since the ‘death’ of Rhaegar Targaryen at the Trident. House Targaryen had returned to Westeros that day and in the subsequent days Fire and Blood would be brought on its enemies.

* * *

The summer snows enveloping the grounds of the North were one of the most beautiful things he had seen, a scenery that he would never get to see again. His father and he had stayed in Winter Town for one night enjoying the comforts of a room for one last time until such they reached another castle where they could stay. Father was in the washroom cleaning the muck and smells they had gathered during their way back to Winterfell. He remembered the tongue-lashings they had given each other for many-a-days until it quieted down and the began to understand each other. The most troubling thing to him was the fact that his mother and father had forsaken their duty and plunged a realm into war. A war which had killed thousands and he had been at the end of it. For a person who had been raised by an honorable man, who put duty ahead of everything he couldn’t bear for this. He wore his clothes, the traditional red and black of the Targaryens but with hints of grey and white honoring the Starks’, the house which his mother had belonged to and the house which had raised him and given him shelter. He had his own personal insignia as well, a shield quartered, bearing the insignia of the Targaryens’ and Starks’.

He walked outside the room down the rickety, old steps of the holdfast and ended up in the hall. He went to the counter carrying a purse of copper stars, he had won in gambling from a drunk man, and slapped it on the table. A girl came out, a pretty one at that, with red flaming hair and bright brown eyes. She blushed on seeing him. He nearly had that kind of reaction on every girl and some boys wherever he went. She fidgeted and looked down at the counter. “We are checking out and would like a meal, for two of course and two horses, saddled.” he walked towards one of the tables but turned his head back and said, “Keep the change.” The girl bit her and lip and nodded, her cheeks still bright red.

“Could you ever stop doing that?” his father asked, momentarily surprising him. He turned and sat on the chair, facing his father.

“It’s not my fault. I don’t do it intentionally, it just happens.” He replied. The girl came and put the breakfast on the table and left quietly, after giving him a longing stare. He huffed at the thought of maids swooning over him, after all he was raised a bastard and who would want a bastard. Another was that he had promised, in front of the heart tree, never too father a bastard and he intended to keep that promise. His father calmly ate his breakfast and he broke the silence around them. “What are they like?” He asked his father.

“Who?” he asked back at him between his bites of bread.

“Daenerys and Viserys, of course. Who else would I ask for.” he shot back, in hushed tones.

“Daenerys is nice, kind and caring and holds an exceptional love for books. She is exactly like mother sweet and caring. Viserys on the other hand, well he can be hard to describe. The only thing he has ever wanted was the throne ever since mother, your grandmother Rhaella, crowned him king. Daenerys has described his rants about winning the Iron Throne and crushing his enemies, namely the usurper and his dogs, the Starks’.”

“So, in short, Daenerys is the kind of company you want, like grandmother Rhaella’s and Viserys’s company you don’t because he is just like The Mad King.” He summarised it.

“Could you please not call him ‘The Mad King’. You can call him Aerys, after all he is your grandfather.” His father said to him.

“No. I will not call him Aerys because he deserved his title justly. He may be my grandfather by blood but by relation he is not and never will be. He wanted to kill innocents and thousands of them just because he wanted no one to take the Iron Throne. Seriously, Father.” He shot back at him. All of this was true. Aerys Targaryen had planted caches of wildfire beneath King’s Landing. They were still there most probably, protected by sands and spells interwoven into each other, otherwise King’s landing would have been smoke and ashes by now. He glared heatedly at his father.

He pushed the chair and got up walking towards the door. He went outside the scent of pinewood and freshly soaked ground filling his lungs. He walked towards the stables and found the two horses, he had ordered, saddled kept over there. He looked at the grey looming walls of Winterfell for the last time. The place was associated with so many memories. The spars between Robb and him, the loving memories of playing the harp in the gardens, the studies with Maester Luwin the fun-filled moments with Bran and little Rickon, the times Sansa would braid his hair. Any amount of distance between them couldn’t and wouldn’t change things between them. They would always remain his brother and sister that he would remember. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned around met the comforting gaze of his father. His eyes like himself were rheumy. He raised his hands and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He nodded at his father and the both sat atop their respective steeds and started journeying towards White Harbor. The next leg of their journey.

**The Young Direwolf**

Robb Stark was tired figuratively and literally. He was tired of sitting on the iron throne of his ancestors ruling the north for Robert Baratheon. He had wanted to rule Winterfell ever since he had been aware that he was the heir. He had even chastised Jon on how he would never have have Winterfell because he was a bastard. What he didn’t understand that time was that holding winterfell was even more painful than before. He didn’t know how his father did it and he could never know it. People expected him to be his father, they didn’t understand that he wasn’t the honorable Eddard Stark. He was Robb Stark and he didn’t have any acclaims to his name.

He had finished with today’s proceedings distributing a bit of grain, sparing some guard’s to find a rapist and sentencing men, from the dungeons, to the wall. He was happy for Maester Luwin’s council and he was angry at his mother for not looking at baby Rickon and focusing all her attention on Bran. he had some of the best soldiers guarding Bran’s door and Summer was always seen with Bran never away from him except when he went to hunt. He had visited Bran daily after carrying out his lordly duties and he would also play with baby Rickon and look after Greywind and Shaggydog.

Bran’s unnamed direwolf was named summer because his mother, of course, and he had found him stroking the coat and kept muttering Summer. They were overjoyed that Bran could speak and garnered that he would wake in some days. The warm furs that his mother had made him had greatly helped in keeping him warm from the summer snows that rained outside. He liked visiting the hidden corners of Winterfell that he and his siblings had found and many a time found himself on the top the broken tower, where Bran had fallen from. That was the general truth that everyone knew but he knew better. He had seen Bran climb firsthand and it would be no surprise to call Bran a monkey. The broken tower at one time used to be the highest watch-tower in Winterfell but had been broken due to a lightning storm. He had wanted to improve the conditions of the broken tower, it had been a dream to him, but he had pressing matters to his concern. _Everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit._ A voice spoke in his mind, a voice he knew well. The voice of his father. And then he vowed that he would start the construction of the broken tower and it would be no longer broken. He would restore it to its former glory.

That was another day. Today he was with Greywind, the direwolf already had grown to the size of his waist and by the end of two to three months he was sure that Greywind would grow to the size of a horse and he could ride him. He desperately wanted to feel how riding a direwolf would be. He knew, somehow that he had a connection Greywind ever since he had those wolf dreams. Last knight however was peculiar one. He had seen two people in the crypts, and it was not during night as usual but in the broad daylight. He had been informed that his eyes had gone blank, the whites of his eyes present and then he was back to normal. He wanted to go and investigate then and there but he had been advised by Maester Luwin not to. The very same night he was back at the crypts looking at the statue of Torrhen Stark, through Greywind’s eyes, and sniffing at the base and the stone slab which oddly contained the smell of Iron and Bronze. The next he visited was that of his aunt Lyanna. The very same crypt that the strangers had visited. The smell was of freshly dug ground and after that he woke up to the blinding rays of the sun striking his face making him assume his lordly duties again until he could go down the crypts and figure the mystery for himself. So , now here he was in front of the ironwood door of the crypts of his ancestors waiting for himself to be judged in their eyes and figure out the mysteries of the crypts of Winterfell.

He opened the door and the earthy smell of the crypts accompanying him. He descended down the winding staircase, from the oldest crypts with their iron swords replicating Ice, to the newest ones. He stopped in front of the crypt belonging to Torrhen Stark, The King who Knelt. He hung the lantern at the pommel of the Greatsword of Torrhen Stark and called Greywind to him who was looking at the other crypts in a foreign manner. He paid reverence to Torrhen Stark for making the right decision of the banks of the Trident willing to save the lives of thirty thousand soldiers and his bannermen, even the leech lords of Dreadfort, from the fate of dying by wildfire. It was because of him that his seed still continued and the Starks still held Winterfell. Greywind, in his dreams, had smelt the stone slab containing the bones of Torrhen Stark. With the help of Greywinds stoky and meaty paws and his hands they removed the stone slab and found the bones of Torrhen Stark, not a bit decayed but that was not what drew his attention. Beside the bones of Torrhen stark was the crown of the Ancient King’s of Winter in all its glory. He gingerly picked up the crown fearing that he might break it. He marveled at the plain simple beauty of the crown.

The crown was a open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the first men, runes that he couldn’t describe. The circlet was surmounted by nine black iron spikes in the shape of longswords with a giant wolf’s head, most probably a direwolf, and two smaller side turned heads howling, pinned in the front. It was beautiful and it showed the strength of the north. He placed the crown on the head of the stone direwolf and put the stone slab back. He then picked up the crown and begun balancing it on his hand inspecting every nook and corner of the fabled crown. Of all the crown that been given to Aegon the Conqueror only one remained and it was with the Starks’. Overjoyed he nearly forgot that he had to visit his aunt Lyanna’s grave. Having no place to punt the crown he put it on his head. The crown fit on his head perfectly as if it was made for him. _I’m the first person to wear this crown since Torrhen Stark kept it at the feet of Aegon the Conqueror._ He stopped in front of the grave of his aunt. The only aunt on his father’s side. The aunt he never knew. On the palms of her hands was a bouquet of Winter Roses, freshly plucked, by the rich aroma they filled the place with. On the slab was a letter. He picked up the letter and saw the seal and he dropped it with a shock. It was a seal of the Targaryen’s, a seal that had not been seen since Robert Baratheon’s bloody Rebellion. A letter with the seal now resided it the crypts of Winterfell. He picked up the letter and broke the seal, wanting to read its contents.

_To Robb Stark,_

_Robb, I know you have been shocked by seeing the seal but you will die if I tell you who I am. I know you are afraid, I mean who isn’t afraid of a seeing a seal that hasn’t been seen since fourteen years. I was raised in Winterfell it is my home so don’t be afraid. I was raised alongside you and I can never forget you all. As for who I am. Lady Stark called me a bastard. The infamous bastard of Winterfell. Yes Robb it’s me Jon, but I prefer to go by my true name Jaehaerys, in short Jae. Remember the night when father said that he and uncle Benjen wanted to speak to me and everyone thought it was about the night’s watch. It wasn’t. It was about my mother. I know you will have one question “Who is your mother?”. Well my mother is Princess Lyanna Targaryen, Consort to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Sister-Wife of Princess Elia Targaryen. Yes my mother loved both the royals and married them. My mother died from childbirth fever in Dorne. She died giving birth to me. For more proof you can dig up the ground in front of the grave and you will find a strongbox there. Open it and see for yourself but keep the things back in the ground. My facial features have also changed. Now I look like a Targaryen than a Stark due to magic present in the veins of Valyrians but have dyed my hair black to blend in. Also I have Blackfyre and Darksister both. Blackfyre is just like Ice and and Darksister is like any longsword but all valyrian steel. I cannot put all my thoughts in this letter but know that I love you and all of our family, holding a bit of animosity towards your mother._

_Warm Regards,_

_Jaehaerys III Targaryen_

_Heir to Dragonstone, Summerhall and The Iron Throne._

He felt his breath knocked out of him. Jon Snow…...no, Jaehaerys Targaryen. They had hosted him for fourteen years. A Targaryen Prince had been brought up as a northern bastard, with no claim to any castle his only hope going to the wall and freeze off his balls protecting the realms of men. That very same bastard was now a prince, the heir to the Targaryen legacy and the Iron Throne.

His mother would be terrified that she had treated someone so important such rudely, Sansa would cry out in joy bragging how they had been hosting a prince. How she had brushed his hair and what not. To Bran, Arya, little Rickon and him it would not matter because he would have still been their brother. He could not believe it but there was little to believe after he had found the ancient crown of the Winter Kings and the Kings in the North. The script was not Jon’s ruddy one, but the elegant script of a prince. He didn’t need to dig up anything because he believed in the letter. It was an honest letter, true to any fault and the things belonging to to the Targaryens would be kept there. Safe until he had to take it out. He clutched the letter in one hand, planning to burn it so nobody would see it, and took the crown off his head and hid it in the folds of his cloak and he walked out merrily from the crypts of Winterfell, finally able to solve the mystery down there.

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

[Jaehaerys Targaryen](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/7a/DAERON_I.jpg)

[Crown of the Winter Kings](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/c/ce/Crown_of_winter.jpg)

[Robb Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/1/18/Magali_Villenueve_Robb_StarkII.jpg)

[Joffrey Baratheon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/0/08/MagaliVilleneuve_JoffreyBaratheon.jpg)

[Maester Aemon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/5/5b/Maester_Aemon_Castle_Black.jpg)

[Rhaegar Targaryen](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/6/6d/Aerion_targaryen_by_arkoniel.jpg)

[Robert Baratheon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/b/bd/RobertBKingMagali_Villeneuve.jpg)

[Cersei Lannister](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/4/4f/MagaliVilleneuve_CLface.jpg)

[Catelyn Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/6/67/Catelyn_Stark.jpg)

[Sansa Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/0/05/The_North_Remembers_by_Isabel_Westling.jpg)

[Arya Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/3/3d/Arya_stark_by_teiiku.jpg)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for such a late update. I've just had a operation so it is a bit difficult for me to write. I'll try my best though. The updates will be very slow as I have exams around the corner.


	3. CH3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FISH-WOLF POV: one week after THE YOUNG DIREWOLF POV.  
> THE FAT STAG POV: three weeks after THE QUIET WOLF POV(CH2 Part2).  
> THE LADY DIREWOLF: the same day as THE FAT STAG POV.  
> THE EXILED DRAGON: one month and two weeks after THE EXILED DRAGON POV(CH1).  
> THE HIDDEN DRAGON: one month and a week after THE LOST DRAGON POV(CH2 Part2).  
> THE QUIET WOLF: the same as THE FAT STAG POV and THE LADYDIREWOLF POV.

**The Fish-Wolf**

Catelyn Stark, or Lady Stark as the household of Winterfell called her, had been scared out of her wits since the past few weeks. First, the insufferable bastard that had tainted her home and her children had left. This was good news to her but her husband, Ned, and her children, all of them including Sansa, had been morose. Robb was never the same, having nobody else to spar with except for Theon Greyjoy. Theon Greyjoy, not the best of company you would want to keep, was still a noble born and the heir to the Iron Islands and was one of Robb’s closest friends. _Not Robb’s best friend. No. That honor went to the bastard._

Second, she had received a letter form Lysa, her sister, that the Lannisters had killed Jon Arryn and were going to hurt her and her Sweetrobin. The letter was in their secret language that only Petyr Baelish knew, since Lysa had told him once when they were kids, but the hand perfectly belonged to Lysa’s to raise any suspicion. In the letter she had also mentioned about going to the Vale and locking it.

Third, was that her husband had gifted Robb the ancestral sword of house Stark, Ice. A sword larger than Robb and could cut through bone, sinew and muscle in a single swipe. She had been pissed at Ned for giving Robb the sword to the spar with Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa’s betroth. Joffrey Baratheon, also not the best of persons, had easily lost to Robb and begged for mercy like a cat rather than a lion.

Fourth, was when her Bran had fallen from the broken tower. How many times she had chided Bran for not climbing towers but the boy had not, never, listened to her. Now her precious boy had fallen, never to wake up again, or so she thought. She had not left Bran’s room since the day he had fallen. Not even for the day when her husband and two daughters went south to join the court. Well Sansa would love to join the court but Arya, no. Arya Stark, her youngest daughter could not join court. She was wild, unpredictable, and used to speak her mind and would not understand the subtleties of the court. _Much like Ned, even he would not survive for long in the viper’s nest and then he would finally come here. Finally._ She was waiting for the day her Ned would come.

The last was when her son, Robb, The acting Lord of Winterfell, had come to her a week ago. He had shown her two things. Both which blew her mind out of proportions. The first was the ancient crown of the Kings of Winter, not been seen since three centuries, was buried beneath the very grounds of Winterfell in the Crypt of Torrhen Stark, The King who Knelt. The second was a letter with a seal that had not been seen in westeros since fourteen years. Almost near the age when the bastard, and Robb would have been conceived. On reading the contents of the letter she had blanched out on fear. Bastard…… no, Prince. Ned had held such important information from her, that had broken her heart. The child who she had called bastard was a Targaryen Prince in hiding. The child who Ned had called son was his nephew. At this she could not think and had just dropped the letter and for a few days she had been black totally. She only remembered one thing, that the bastard was a prince and Ned and Howland Reed had gotten him from the dying arms of his mother, Princess Lyanna Targaryen, and hidden him from Robert Baratheon for fifteen years and a month ago he had finally told the bastard the truth.

Now a week after her senses had returned to her she walked out from the rooms of Brandon Stark, on whom Maester Luwin kept and eye, and with her son headed down the crypts. She had been so accustomed to the heat of the room that she had to wrap herself tighter in her northern cloaks. Robb had started to allow the growth of some of his facial hairs and had started to look a lot like Ned now. He even used to talk and rule like him. She saw men, workers, lumbering stones and stones towards the broken tower that Robb said he wanted to construct again. A better and stronger tower. The construction was on the way the mortar and cement present in heavy sacks no doubt coming from the various shipment of Karhold, Castle Cerwyn, Dreadfort, White Harbor and more places. She walked with her son who had taken a lantern and a shovel with him and they arrived at the door of the infamous crypts of Winterfell.

Robb pushed open the door and walked in, she was just behind him walking down the winding staircase afraid to trip and fall. Of all the places that she had been in Winterfell the crypts were not one of them. She was born a Tully and the crypts were only for those with Stark blood and for those who had the strength to face the dead Stark kings, she added after thinking about Robert Baratheon . She had neither. She followed Robb All the way down to where Lyanna Stark was laid to rest.

“Dig it up Robb. I want to see if the letter is true. Dig it up.” She commanded her son. Robb went ahead and dug up the earth in front of Lyanna Stark’s statue. Sure enough there was a thud and a strongbox came into view. The box was a bit rotten along with the iron hinges which had rusted. She bent down and helped Robb in getting the strongbox up. She opened the box with shaky hands, her face white with fear and the gaze of Lyanna Stark’s statue judging her on why she could not love a motherless child. She opened it up and scurried back in fear after seeing what was inside. Inside was a cloak, black as night with a Three Headed Dragon sewn into it. She took it out setting it beside her. Next, came a white cloak, white as ice, as white as the banners of house Stark, with a grey direwolf running across it. She took that out as well. Inside were left only two things, two pieces of parchment. She opened the first one and read it.

_The names of the first children, of both sexes, borne from the holy union of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark will be as such:_

_If the child is a male he will be named Jaehaerys III Targaryen, the third of his name, Prince of Summerhall and the Iron Throne after Aegon VI Targaryen._

_If the child is a female she will be named Visenya Targaryen, Princess of Summerhall._

This was it.It was crushing her heart. She found it difficult to breathe. She opened the second parchment too and read it.

_These are papers of marriage between Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and Heir-Apparent to the Iron Throne and Lady Lyanna Stark, daughter to the Warden of North. By signing these papers, they have effectively married each other in law as well as in front of the seven. It is to be recorded by the citadel that the marriage has been taken place._

She looked at the stony gaze of the Statue of Lyanna Stark which bore down on her and she broke down crying. She felt angry at Ned for not telling her such and important thing and she felt angry at herself for not treating Jon Snow……. No, Jaehaerys Targaryen better. The child of her good sister, a prince, Heir to the Dragonlords of Valyria.

“Shhhhh………. Mother, it’s not your fault. Father should have trusted you and he didn’t. Shhhhh….” Robb comforted her. “Come on, Mother, let’s go outside, Bran and Rickon need you. I’ll clean all of it up.

She got up and pulled her cloak tighter around her, and sniffing back her tears she started walking outside her mind full of the Jaehaerys Targaryen, while her eldest cleaned up the mess they had made.

**The Fat Stag**

Robert Baratheon in his years had done many things. Well three things. Fighting, drinking and whoring. The latter two which continued even after he had been crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms and had been married to the most beautiful highborn lady one could find. Cersei Lannister, with her hair that was exactly the shade of spun gold and her eyes like emeralds. He had married her for a heir and not for love. Never for love, because he loved another. Lyanna Stark, sister to the now Lord Paramount of the North, Eddard Stark, his foster-brother, his best friend. They had camped at Castle Darry on their exhausting ride from Winterfell to Kings Landing. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, who had been handsome and muscular in his youth, who had been called the Demon of the Trident, for the war which was fought near the Ruby Ford, around Castle Darry where he had slain Rhaegar Targaryen for kidnapping his betroth, had now become fat, red-faced, with bags under his eyes, with a double chin which was hidden by wild, coarse beard.

He was currently pissing under a tree, his cock hidden by his massive girth. Around him were the lush green lands of the Riverlands, with the wind blowing with a mighty force, rippling his cloak and the branches of the tree he was pissing on. He closed his breaches and did up the laces after he finished pissing and turned back walking towards the table that had been put up for him and Ned.

“Gods, this is country!” he exclaimed, stretching his hands on either side, gesturing the wide expanse before him. He looked back and saw the Baratheon and Stark banners rippling in the air with soldiers carrying them. “I’ve half a mind to leave them all behind and keep you in.” He said, in his gravelly voice, taking the only seat left, directly opposite to Ned.

“I’ve half a mind to go with you.” Ned said, looking around.

“What do you say? Just you and me on the Kings Road, swords to our sides, couple a tavern wenches to warm our beds tonight?” He said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. By the end of it he saw one of the smiles of Ned Stark, which reminded him of the days in his youth.

“You should have asked me twenty years ago.” Ned said wearing a full blown smile, his cheeks a bit red. He snorted at it.

“There were wars to fight, women to marry, not a chance to be young.” He said, remembering his loveless marriage to Cersei Lannister.

“I recall a few chances.” Ned said, countering him, stroking his beard. He laughed at it and Ned joined it. The honourable Ned Stark recalled a few chances of bedding tavern wenches.

“Who was that one,” he said pointing a finger at Ned, “oh…..  what her name? That common girl of yours?” He asked but ended up answering himself. “Beckka, with her great big tits, you could bury ‘our face in.” He said his face red.

“Bessie.” Ned answered, and continued, “She was on of yours.” He said, nodding his head towards him.

“Bessie, thank the gods for Bessie, and her tits.” He replied, unable to control his laughter he laughed loud and was joined by Ned.

“Yours was Elena. No, you told me once,” He said dismissing the name Elena with a wave of his hand, “Meryl?” He said suggestively and continued, “Your bastard's mother.” He blatantly asked. He saw Ned look down, fidgeting with his hands. Ned’s face contorted to one of hurt and sadness.

“Wyalla.”Ned answered, half-heartedly.

“That’s it. She must have been a rare wench to make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honor.”He said smiling. He picked up one of the fruits put on the table and started to peel the upper layer off.”You never told me what she looked like.

“Nor will I.”Ned said, sadness evident in his voice.

“We were at war. None of us knew if we were going back home again. You’re too hard on yourself. You always have been.” He said gravely, his muscles tensing. He saw Ned look away from him. “I swear if I weren’t your king you’d’ve hit me already.” He said. Ned raised his shoulders.

“Worst thing about you’re coronation. I’ll never get to hit you again.” Ned said, and started laughing at the thought of it.

“Trust me that’s not the worst thing.” He spoke gravely. He took out a piece of parchment from his tunic and handed it over to Ned. “There was a rider in the night.” He said. Ned took the parchment and read it. His face formed into one of surprise and then he shrugged it.

“Daenerys Targaryen is going to wed some horse lord. What of it?” Ned asked. What of it. What of it. Didn’t Ned understand. The Targaryen boy would come with a khalasar ready to plunder the Seven Kingdoms and take his throne. He was angry. Definitely. “Should we send her a wedding gift.” Ned asked not joking at all.

“Knife. Perhaps a good sharp one and a bold man to wield it.” He said, drinking a bit of wine from his cup to soothe down his nerves.

“She is little more than a child.”Ned quarreled.

“Soon enough that child will spread her legs and start breeding.”He shot back at Ned. He took another swig of his mug, his throat getting cooled by the gushing wine.

“Tell me we are not speaking of this.”Ned replied. His face contorted into one of anger.

“Oh! Its unspeakable to you. What her father did to your family, that was unspeakable. What Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister, the women I loved. I’ll kill every Targaryen I get my hands on.” He shot back at Ned, angry, his thoughts running wild. He remembered his dreams where he would kill Rhaegar Targaryen and hear the last word spoken by him. A word that broke his heart. _Lyanna._ He didn’t remember the face of Lyanna, not even after he had seen her face. He just knew that he had wanted her and Rhaegar had kidnapped her. He also knew that Lyanna, loved Rhaegar and detested him. He could see it in her eyes every time she danced with him in the monstrous castle of Harrenhal. Lyanna had run, and the rebellion was for new blood. The only blood that had the Targaryen one. Baratheon blood. He could not tell this to Ned. he would never tell this to anyone.

“But you can’t get your hands on this one can you?” Ned’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“This Khal Drogo. It’s said that he has a hundred thousand men in his horde.”He said.

“Even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm. As long as they stay on the other side of the narrow sea. They have no ships Robert.”Ned answered hotly.

“There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper.” Robert answered silencing Ned. “The Targaryen boy crosses with a Dothraki horde on his back. The scum will join him.”

“He will not cross.” Ned said his nose flaring, “And if by chance he does we’ll throw him back into the sea.” There was pregnant silence between them. It was broken by the sloshing of Robert’s wine inside his cup.

“There is a war coming Ned. I don’t know when, I don’t know who will be fighting. But it’s coming.” He said, and took a swig of the wine easing down his anger on Ned and the Targaryens.

**The Lady Direwolf**

Sansa Stark, daughter of the Warden of the North, Hand of the King and granddaughter to the Lord paramount of the Riverlands, was happy, sad, she didn’t know. Ever since the Prince had come to the North Jeyne Poole and she had been fawning over him, how the prince looked handsome with his golden, curly locks, his bright emerald eyes, and what not. They always held notion that the Prince was easily one of the best fighters, but that had drastically changed when her brother Robb had defeated him in the match. She had seen him squeal like a cub that day instead of roar like a lion and when she had gone to offer him comfort he had snapped at her in the most brutal way. After that she had gone to Robb, when he was receiving praises, and screamed at him that it had been his fault that the prince did not talk to her. Robb had asked her one thing that day. She remembered it clearly.

_“So, what. I just forsake my honor like that. Just so that you could get all comfortable with your prince. He agreed to it and he lost. And anyhow, who is your family. Us or that baby prince of yours.” Robb snapped at Sansa and continued. “Tell me Sansa.”_

_“You are, but Joffrey is my betroth.” Sansa said, timidly._

_“Everything before the word ‘but’ is horse-shit.” Robb said._

_“When the snows fall, and the white winds blow…., what comes after that.”_

_“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.” Sansa said._

_“Do you want to be the lone wolf and die, Sansa, or will you stay with the pack. Always remember, Family first in any situation.” Robb said._

Ever since then Sansa Stark had changed, and the people of Winterfell saw and noticed it. Sansa Stark now used to let her direwolf, Lady, roam free, like the rest of the Stark children did. She was more friendly towards Arya now and used to ride horse more, trying to embrace her northern culture more so that she would not feel an outcast in the North anymore and she would have pleasant things to remember about Winterfell and her brothers and sisters. But the gods had their own way. Bran had fallen from the broken tower and had entered a comatose, only a miracle could wake Bran again. That day she had gone to Godswood and knelt in front of the heart for the very first time. This was new to her but she knew that she only needed to think her problem and not speak it. She thought of all her problems. She had asked forgiveness for her sins, of abandoning her family. She had asked the old gods of the north to keep her brother, Jon Snow, safe wherever he was. She asked forgiveness for calling him his half-brother, who was the best and she knew whatever happened he would love her unconditionally. She wanted to hear the notes of the harp he played, back in Winterfell. She had heard him when he was in the glass gardens, even Arya was there and she could see the surprised look in her eyes that day. She asked for mercy and forgiveness and strength hoping that the gods of her father and the north gave her that.

Today, she was on a walk with Prince Joffrey on the countryside with near the Ruby Ford, and Joffrey was drinking wine heavily and boasting how his father had defeated the false dragon so easily. She was wearing a gown of pretty blue today and had let her hair down in loose curls. Joffrey on the other hand was wearing coat and breeches of crimson with a red scabbard which held his sword Lion’s Tooth in it. Lady had gone to hunt and she was only left with the prince’s company. Joffrey had offered her wine quite a few times and she had drank it. Now he offered it again.

“I, probably shouldn’t have anymore. Father only lets us have one glass in a feast.” She replied to the offer.

“My princess can have as much as she wants.” Joffrey said, sounding true. He flashed a smile that would have made any maiden weak in her knees, but she wasn’t any maiden, she was one of the most beautiful maidens in Westeros. He offered it back to her and she grasped it and brought her lips to the nozzle and drank a bit of wine.

She could hear the clang of wooden swords in a distance and faint come on. It was masculine voice. She and Joffrey both had seen it but Joffrey was eyeing the pair. He looked back at me on hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Don’t worry I’ll protect you.” He said. I doubted it.

“I’ll get you.” The boy shouted running after the….. lady it looked like. They both started clanging swords again. She and Joffrey passed under the trees and came up in front of Arya and a boy.

“Arya.” She said. That gained the attention of her sister. Arya looked back a smile on her face, her hair falling away from the bun that she had made and her dress dirty. Just like the Arya she knew. She smiled on the inside at it. Just then the butcher’s boy hit Arya and her face formed into one of displeasure.

“Owww!”Arya hissed turning towards the butcher’s boy. She turned to face us once again. “What happened Sansa. Leave me alone for once will you.”

“Your Sister.”Joffrey cut in, looking at her. Arya looked with apprehension towards Joffrey. Then Joffrey’s gaze turned towards the butcher’s boy. “And who might you be?” Joffrey asked the butcher’s boy, walking, poised towards him. The boy dropped his sword and fear was written all over his face.

“Mycah, m’lord. I’m the butcher’s boy.” Mycah answered.

“He’s my friend.”Arya answered trying to correct what Mycah had said. She looked at Arya’s face. Arya was angry.

“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight. Heh!” Joffrey exclaimed. Joffrey walked towards Mycah one hand on the pommel the other on the ring that adorned his hand. He drew his sword from his scabbard and said, “Pick up your sword butcher’s boy lets see how good you are.”Joffrey said.

“Leave him alone.”Arya roared at him.

“Arya stay out of this.” She said looking arya directly in the eyes, conveying an unspoken message. _I want to see he does._ To her shock and surprise Arya gave her a curt nod.

“Come on butcher’s boy fick up your sword and fight.”Joffrey taunted him once more.

“I’m sorry m’lord. She wanted me to do it .”Mycah said, trying to pin all the blame on Arya. At that moment she hated the butcher’s boy.

“I’m not your lord, I’m your prince. Now pick up the sword.”Joffrey said in a slow and, trying to be dangerous voice, but it had Mycah afraid by the end. “I promise, I won’t hurt you.” Joffrey said, sadistically. “Much.” He added after it. He flashed his sword to the boy’s cheek and bade a dainty little cut on the his cheek, enough to draw blood.

At that moment, when she saw Arya’s face she new Arya had lost it. Arya picked up her wooden sword and hit Joffrey had in the back. Joffrey turned at Arya, rage written purely on her face.

He slashed and hacked at the air in front of Arya while she was standing scared out of her wits. Joffrey yelled vile and mean curses at Arya, which she thought she would never hear from her prince. Arya had managed to evade Joffrey sword till now and the boy, Mycah, was standing there looking at spectacle unfolding in front of him. At the end Arya was on the ground and Joffrey was standing above, sword placed threateningly above Arya’s throat.

“I’ll gut you little cunt.”Joffrey wailed with conviction. Just then with a bark Nymeria entered the fray and latched on the prince’s wrist biting him, enough to draw blood. At that moment Arya Stark stood up sword in hand, Joffrey’s sword, and held it at his throat. Nymeria stopped and stood by Arya.

“Please…...please...don’t….” Joffrey whimpered like a dog. At least the Hound didn’t whimper.

Arya then took the blade in both her hands and threw it with all her power….. straight in the river. Lion’s tooth would not be seen. Not anymore for it was now resting where Rhaegar Targaryens rubies did. Both Arya and Nymeria then bound away. She didn’t wait for Joffrey and his wailing and left the place. She would at least not be cruel and send the person someone to help Joffrey but no more could she believe in the handsome, gallant prince. Not after what had transpired.

**The Exiled Dragon**

Daenerys Targaryen sat in the gardens of the manse of Illyrio Mopatis, the gracious host of the Targaryens’. She sat her to escape herself from the smoldering heat of the sun that beat down on her back and to get away from her lecherous brother. The said brother, Viserys of course, was most probably holed up in his room raping one of the Lynesi pillow slaves he had brought from Illyrio’s purse. When she had thought out hard why he had bought the Lynesi ones she got the answer. _They look like Targaryens and Targaryens wed brother to sister._ Fear had come over her that day that Viserys would take her to bed as he had demanded from their brother, but Rhaegar had said no. She could still remember the smouldering gaze of Rhaegar in his solar when Viserys had asked him for her hand. To marry as Targaryens did, brother to sister. From that day Viserys did not touch her in any lecherous manner that he had done when she was young.

Today she well wanted to avoid Viserys because he had wanted to take her to the market to buy some new silks. She wanted to stay in the lovely gardens eating dates and tarts  and read the book or cradle her dragon eggs.

Her dragon eggs were another matter. They were her pride and joy and many a time she had felt something moving inside it. In the recent days they had also grown a bit hot, but that was for her. One day her brother had tried to take an egg but he had recklessly dropped it on the floor claiming it was hot. When she saw Viserys’ hands she had yelped. His hands were an angry shade of red, but she picked up the eggs she felt nothing. Just comforting heat.

But she could not eat and read all the time in her gardens of solace and soon she heard the surly voice she did not want to hear.

“Dear sweet sister.” Viserys said. She closed her book then and looked towards the frail form of her brother. Viserys claimed to be a dragon though he didn’t look like one. Her brother was frail, weak and used to bed whores, pleasure slave, whatever they called them, and was definitely cruel. “Come on sweet sister, let us go and shop in the markets. I’m sure you will find something of your tastes.” Viserys’ words cut her thoughts like knife did to hot butter. She didn’t want to go, but she couldn’t tell that to him. If Viserys was weak she was weaker because she was always so submissive towards her. He would yell at her, slap her, yank her hair and she couldn’t do anything. The only time Viserys was like her was when Rhaegar had hit him. She remembered that day clearly but Viserys’ unpleasant voice rang in her ears.

“Come sweet sister, stand up and let me take look at you.” He grabbed her roughly by her shoulders and made her stand up. He inspected her leering at her breasts and her waist.

“You should eat more sister. Your husband would want a woman not a child.” He said, cupping the soft underside of her right breast.

She felt thoroughly repulsed by this, not once did she feel the so called pleasure that woman felt. Soon Viserys dropped his hand from her breast and grabbed her hand. “Let us go sister, you would need new clothes now for you are now to be the wife of Khal Drogo, who rides with a hundred thousand riders. With them we will win back the iron throne and you would have done your part.”

He led through the garden and to the doors of Illyrio’s manse. All the while she could only think of what Viserys had done and wanted Rhaegar here to protect her from him. To take her away. She knew Rhaegar hadn’t sanctioned this, this was all Viserys. She wanted to run away, to Lys perhaps. Nobody there could call her a Targaryen, all Lynesi looked like her, but Viserys’ grip was too strong to let her loose and she finally lost herself in the colors of the marketplace.

The bazaars, as the marketplaces were called, housed different items from all over the known world, or so they claimed. Myrish laces, Westerosi silks, sandals, armor, swords and what not. Today the bazaars were not as usually crowded. The shops had various displays on them but she didn’t want any. Viserys’ grip was tight on her arm and she thought he would break it. She could feel the bones on the wrist of Viserys dig in arm, hurting her. On the way down the bazaar they were near to the armor shops. One of them was a master armorer Huzor Amai, from Sarnor. She really like a dagger on the display and wanted to buy it but she didn’t a way to convince Viserys. Suddenly, an idea clicked in her mind and she smiled at it.

“Dear brother, please let me buy a dagger, from Huzor Amai. I’ve heard that he makes great daggers. After all the Khal of Khals wouldn’t want to marry a weak girl. A dagger will make me look strong. Valyrian steel will look best I garner.” She spoke in a sugary sweet voice. All during her way she heard Viserys rant how the Khal of Khals would not want a little girl. She had used his exact words against him. Viserys merely nodded at it and the entered the shop of the master armorer.

The shop was like all other ones, filled with soot and heat. She heard Huzor barking on some boys on how to do things. Viserys approached him.

“Master Armorer, Huzor, I want a valyrian steel dagger for my sister with a dragon on its pommel. The dragon should be made of gold with rubies as its eyes, of course. Only the best for the Targaryens.” Viserys sneered at him. “You will receive your payment the same time you deliver the dagger in Illyrio’s Manse.” At least he had some common sense not to give the money beforehand

“Of….. course m’lord.”Huzor stuttered. Huzor immediately shouted and the other workers began work on her dagger’s pommel. Viserys guided her out and led her through the streets of the bazaar to Illyrio’s Manse. Though the walk was usually tiring, she didn’t feel tired because she was so happy that she had managed to manipulate Viserys and gain a dagger for herself. On reaching the inside Viserys left her arm and strutted towards his room. She could see the fingerprints Viserys had left on her arm while clutching it. Now she went back to her room and lost herself in her dragon eggs that she had safely hidden so that Viserys would not steal it. All of that was until a servant arrived and told her that the magister requested her presence in his solar. She hid her eggs and made way to Illyrio’s solar. Illyrio was a fat man, who claimed to be thin when he was young. He had golden hair and blue eyes. He had also them that he had been a sellsword when he was young.

She entered his solar to find Illyrio smiling there. “My princess, I want to inform you of one thing and one thing only. The Khal of Khals that your promised you to is not coming to Pentos and will not marry some foreigner he has said in simple words.”

She was overjoyed at what she heard. She would not marry some dothraki barbarian as her brother had stated. She smiled a full blown smile and escorted herself to her room well she fell down her bed giggling, though she should not have as a princess. She couldn’t help and she giggled herself to some afternoon sleep.

**The Hidden Dragon**

Jaehaerys Targaryen stood on the deck of the _Magister’s Daughter_ , a frequently travelling ship that sailed between Pentos, Volantis, Kings Landing and White Harbor. The salty sea air hit his face wiping away any sweat that had been building on his face. His silver hair was tied back in a pony and a small goatee had begun to form on his face. Blackfyre was inside the compartments that his father and he had bought. Though not equipped with the sword he still had a dagger concealed in his black doublet.

The day they had reached White Harbor, he had shocked out of his wits. The city was easily the biggest in North. On the banks of the White Knife, which provided trade opportunities to the north. True to its origins the seat of the Manderlys’, who came from the Reach exiled under the orders of King Perceon III Gardner, the then King of the Reach. The Manderlys’ had then moved North but had not committed themselves to the old gods of the North instead preferring the Faith of the Seven. They had peacefully bent the knee to the Starks’ and had since then become one of the largest port cities of Westeros. The walls of White Harbor were made from Light grey stone that stayed strong and stout. He could see the distant Wolf’s Den, made by King Jon Stark, to repel the raiders from sea. He could see the black, crumbling walls that cast its shadow on house, it now serving as a prison. Wolf’s den had held many families within itself, one of them being the Greystarks, until the house joined the Bolton’s in rebellion against Winterfell.

They had stayed a day in White Harbor, him washing his hair and removing the dye just after they had booked their passage to Pentos the next day. On looking at his face he seemed to like the beauty he now possessed but he could see some Stark traits too. While his father’s hair were curly, his were perfectly straight, a feature, his father said he got from his mother. He an angular face that clearly belonged to his father. His wine colored eyes, that no one in his family seemed to have, but was still a shade of purple and his father had told him that Valyrians had eyes the shade of purple or blue, usually darker colors in blue, had seemed to attract a lot of people.

On the initial days neither Ghost nor him had taken a liking to sea. They had been constantly sick for a few days until they were fine, but were still prone to some nausea. By the end of the journey neither were affected by the ship moving gently across the waves.

“You left all alone in the cabin huh. Never thought that would happen being such a heavy sleeper you are.” A voice interrupted his musings. He smiled and answered back.

“Well I woke up to enjoy my last sunrise on the narrow sea until we sail away for Volantis, which won’t be for a month. I’m not pleased to say but you missed a beautiful sunrise.” His father came stood beside him, his curls flowing with the wind, creating a messy tangle. His father had washed the dye out of his hair the third day they had been on the boat, and he liked the silver of his father.

In front of them rose the Bay of Pentos, one of the ports located on the western side of Essos. He could see the flatlands and the velvet hills on either side of Pentos, the velvet hills making a natural barrier. The city of Pentos had massive high walls, large manses, belonging to various nobles. The city contained of many squared brick towers and the in the center of the city stood a mammoth structure made entirely of red stone. _Redder that the stones of the Red Keep._ His father had told him that in the east most prayed to fire god, R’hllor or the Lord of the Light as many people called him. He had even told him that the Red Priests that run the temple used to sing an light their night fires.

He hand his father then walked back to their cabin to pack in any stuff they had left. He took Blackfyre out of the box and proceeded to strap it to his waist while his father kept Dark Sister in the box. Just then the ship gave lurch, signalling their arrival at the docks. He could see a small honest smile beginning to form on the face of his father, probably on the prospect of seeing his sister. All the way, except when that had fought with swords, or played the harp, he used to talk about his Daenerys. Even he was excited to meet her.

The carried the box, grasping at its handles, all the way to the deck The deck also held many memories for him. He had learned how to fight in different styles, which often included getting beaten by his Tyroshi friend. That happened for quite a while until he beat Rogare, who always colored his hair green. He looked towards Rogare, their eyes meeting and gave him a curt nod. Rogare returned the same. By the time they climbed down the gangway and were swarmed coolie’s. My father bought one coolie to aid us and led us to where the carriages were. He paid the coolie in the currency familiar to the Pentoshi. We then boarded the carriage. The carriage’s here, unlike in Westeros, were not horsedrawn, instead they were picked up by the slaves. He had half a mind that they take horses but was silenced by a knowing glare of his father. His father paid the man who owned the carriage for the trip to Illyrio’s manse, the biggest one. This made Jae wonder just how many manses did that cheese-monger had.

He opened the curtains to see what all Pentos had to offer. Being a bastard for the first 14 years of his life, he had always wanted to go to the Wall or roam in the free cities were no one would look upon his bastard ancestry. Now he had what he had wanted. He was in Pentos, but as a hidden prince.

The markets of Pentos, or bazaars as they were called, were a lively affair. One could easily lose himself in the silks, ornaments, various things crafted by armorers and still could not call it upon himself that he had seen the markets. There was simply much to do.

“Like the scenery, Jae.” His father commented. He just looked wide-eyed at his father, with a dumbfounded expression, nodding mutely. His father laughed and he cracked up a smile at the laugh.

“You know you should smile more, not stay so brooding as I was.” He smiled at it. “You know despite our ancestry, me being Fire and Lyanna being Ice, we were the exact opposite in our nature. She had hot wolf’s blood in her and I was a brooding prince. Arthur and Elia in fact used to tease us on this.” His father said.

“Can you tell me more about Elia. I know a lot of things about my mother but you said that Elia had also kind of married her.” He asked broaching the subject that had nagged at the back of his mind. His father gave out a sigh at that.

“Elia at the beginning was furious, because I had placed a crown of winter roses on Lyanna’s head not hers. Elia was a perfect dornish beauty that many people would want, but had some problems at child birthing. When Rhaenys was first born, who looked exactly like a valyrian, Elia had been bedridden for a half a year. My mother had warmly welcomed Rhaenys into the family, but my father was not pleased that I did not have a son. After the tourney of Harrenhal, Elia told me that she was pregnant with Aegon. During those times I also remembered the times with your mother. Unknown to me, Elia, behind my back, had struck up a more than friendship thing with Lyanna. Elia practically yelled me to pursue her.” His father, chuckled at the thought, but continued, “I went to Riverrun, disobeying my father’s orders of capturing your mother, and ran off with her to Dorne. In the Isle of Faces, I met with Elia and Ser Jaime. There we married and consummated our marriage.” A look of pure, unadulterated happiness crossed his father’s face but that quickly changed to rage. “After that Baratheon started his bloody rebellion leaving me wifeless and childless. When I found you I was so happy. I had a son. Lyanna’s son was alive. Since then, I always dreamed how good it would have been if all of us were alive.” He could feel his father’s sadness radiate around him. There were tears pouring from both their eyes. _Tears don’t make a man weak, they make him strong._ He jumped at his father and enveloped in a bear hug.

“They will pay father. Baratheon and Lannister and all alike will pay. They will pay for what they did to my mothers and siblings. Elia, Aegon, Rhaenys, Mother, they all will pay.” He said comforting both his father and himself also making a promise. “They want to play the Game. Let them play, but when the Dragon comes all will bow, or they will die with Fire and Blood.”

They eased their comforts till such time they arrived at the gather of Illyrio’s manse. Illyrio’s manse was grand, much more grand than Winterfell, or White Harbor, even the Red Keep by the way his father described it. The manse had brick walls, twelve feet high that were surmounted by iron spikes. They were guarded by the famous Unsullied, of Astapor, in their black armor. On seeing my father the Unsullied opened the door revealing the beauty inside. The were, pillared galleries, pointed arches, tiled floors. In the middle was a marble pool with a statue of a naked boy at its center. The statue depicted a lithe and handsome boy , made of painted marble, which had shoulder length blonde hair. It was posed with a Bravo’s blade in its hands. The pool itself was surrounded by six cherry trees. He could see the numerous acres of gardens behind the manse covered in ivy. He felt his mouth drop in shock at what he was seeing.

His father grasped his hand and tugged at him lightly making him go away with him. His father opened the doors and led him into his solar. His father’s solar consisted of a polished Ebony desk, with a soft cushiony chair. The room was heated by a brazier but the heat had never been a problem to him. _Probably due to my dragon’s blood._ The room was painted in the rich colors of red, black purple, blue, different hues being present and the floor was carpeted in a soft shade of blue. The room was as big as his room at Winterfell he couldn’t fathom to imagine how big the rooms would be. His father motioned for him and he came and stood beside his father.

Just then the doors of the room blasted open and a girl and boy came inside. There was look of happiness on the girl but the boy was clearly not happy. The boy was dressed in fine clothes no doubt, but looked worse, his hair was not combed and stood up in directions. The girl however was very beautiful. The most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was also loose but it came down to her waist falling in beautiful curls.

_Daenerys and Viserys._

“Daenerys, Viserys, meet my son by Lyanna Stark, Jaehaerys III Targaryen, the crown prince.”His father said. There was a look of shock on their faces.

“Uncle, Aunt……” He said, breaking the silence, “How are you both?”

**The Quiet Wolf**

He walked in the woods surrounding Castle Darry, looking for her youngest wild daughter. The scent of pine leaves and smoke evaded his senses. He could feel his legs crush the twigs and leaves underneath him, littered on the forest flow. He could hear his men shouting fro her daughter and he gladly joined them. “Arya, Arya, where are you.” He heard no response only the rustle of leaves and the barking of the hounds. The prayed to old gods that Arya should be fine. He could not bear to lose her, she was so much like Lyanna in her ways, he could not bear to lose any of his children. _But you already lost one. The one you considered your son._ He wanted to hammer his head until that cruel voice left him,but he knew it was true. He only prayed that Jon was alive and fine. He didn’t give up his relentless shouting, torch in his hand walking forward he kept shouting util his voice was beginning to get hoarse. He heard the distant galloping of hooves but continued to walk forward.

“M’lord.” Someone said. He looked behind to see it was Jory Cassel, head guard of Winterfell. “We found her.” His heart thumped loudly at words.

“Where is she.” He asked, anger edging in his voice.

“She’s been taken directly before the King.” Jory supplied.

“Who took her?” He questioned Jory.

“The Lannister’s found her.” Jory answered.

“Alright get back.” He muttered, fear and anger both mixing in equal amounts.

“The ordered them to bring her straight to him.” Jory shouted before him. _Damm the queen!! She has no right._

“Back. Back to the Inn.” He shouted to his men. His men started going back, obeying their leige lord. “All back.” He still shouted, making his order clear to everyone. The walk back to the inn was easy considering the adrenaline pumping in his veins. He walked to the main hall of the Darry’s where the King was seated on the lords seat. He pushed his way from the Lannister men who were crowding in front of him, pushing one or two blonde pricks. He finally made way. He saw Arya standing there and his heart soared. He went and affectionately cupped the cheeks of his daughter.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She muttered. He grabbed her in a hug and all while shot a look towards Robert.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked Robert, anger lacing his voice. “Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?” Robert began to speak but the Lannister cut him off.

“How dare you speak to your King in that manner.” She said, softly.

“Quiet woman.” Robert said, in his gruff voice. “Sorry Ned, I never meant to frighten the girl, but we need to get this business done quickly.”

“Your girl and that butcher’s boy attacked my son. That beast of hers nearly tore his arm of.” Cersei said, gesturing to the bandaged hand of Prince Joffrey.

“That is not true. She just….. just bit him a little.” Arya said, unsure of her words. Robert scrutinized Arya, probably looking for some twitch where he take a lie out, if there was one. “He was hurting Mycah.”

“Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.” Cersei argued.

“That’s not true. That’s not what happened.” Arya shot heatedly.

“Yes it is. They all attacked me and she threw my sword into the river.” Joffrey said. He wasn’t even paying attention until to him but he could see the twitches in his face.

“Liar.” Arya argued in the same breath.

“Shut up.” Joffrey said.

“Enough.” Robert’s voice boomed across the hall. “He tells me one thing., she tells me another. Seven hells, what am I to make of this?” Robert questioned, rhetorically. There was a silence. “Where’s your other daughter Ned?” Robert asked.

“In bed asleep.” He answered.

“She’s not.” Cersei’s said, softly. “Sansa come here, darling.” Just then the door opened and Sansa walked in, her hair done up in a hasty braid. She was escorted by a Lannister guard. All the soldiers stepped aside when she walked. She cast him a wary glance. He stood there stupefied that Sansa was awake.

“Now child,” Robert said pointing at her. He then pointed to the space in front of him. “Tell me what happened? Tell it all and tell it true. It’s a great crime to lie to a king?” Robert demanded to her. She cast a glance at him and hee could see the words behind her eyes. _The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives._ He nodded at her.

“We were on a walk your grace, me and the prince. We came across Arya and the butcher’s boy clanging swords with each other. Arya is like that your grace, like Aunt Lyanna.” At hearing Lyanna’s name Robert’s face slackened a bit. “ Joffrey told the butcher’s boy to pick up the stick and fight him because he wanted to be knight. The boy, Mycah said that it was on my sister’s persuasion that he was clanging swords with her. Joffrey ordered him to pick up his sword while he had drawn his own. He said that he wouldn’t hurt the boy, much. He then scraped the boy with his sword on his cheek.” Sansa was on tears by then. He moved and cast his hands on her shoulders to steady her. “ Arya then hit Joffrey. He started swinging his sword like a madman.” The whole court sucked in their breath at the word mad. Joffrey tried to speak but Robert glared at him. He motioned Sansa to speak. “Arya at the end was lying on the ground. He spoke vile curses at her. Our direwolves have a great bond with us your grace. Nymeria must have sensed it, that is why she attacked Joffrey. In the end Joffrey was on the ground begging for mercy but Arya picked up his sword and threw it in the water”

“You spoke curse to my brother’s daughter. You harmed an innocent. You got disarmed by a girl and then begged for mercy.” Robert roared at Joffrey. “You also lie to me about what happened.” Robert punched Joffrey straight in the face. Joffrey fell down.

“I’m sorry for this farce of a trial Ned. Take your daughter’s to bed, I believe I’ll be having a chat with my son. I don’t want to see the bloody direwolves near this camp Ned is it clear.” Robert said to him.

“Yes your grace.” He answered.

“Now listen to me all of you, anyone of you attempt to harm the girls, I’ll personally bash in your chest with my hammer like I did with Rhaegar Targaryen.” Robert shouted at the court.

“The betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa is off Ned. Until further date.” Robert whispered at him.

He guided his daughter’s out of the all the mishap happening inside there. Arya practically leapt and got ahold of Sansa hugging her to death. Sansa also returned it to her. He was happy that Sansa and Arya had reconciled. He gave in and hugged both his daughters.

“Listen you both, if Lady and Nymeria come Robert will have them killed. If they come run them away. They are direwolves they will survive with each other.” He told them after their hug. “Now off to bed both of you.”

Unknown to him and the girls the two direwolves were listening to the conversation together and they knew that if they appeared they would be killed. The two ran off together, never to return until their human mates found them.

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

 

[Viserys Targaryen](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/a/a5/Viserys_targaryen_by_kim_sokol.jpg)

[Ghost](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/7b/Ghost_by_carrie_best.jpg)

[Grey Wind](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/b/b4/King_Robb_Grey_Wind.jpg)

[Lady](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/e/e3/CarrieBest_Sansa_and_Lady.jpg)

[Nymeria](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/4/4a/Nymeria_by_daaria.jpg)


	4. CH4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE EXILED DRAGON POV : same day and time as THE HIDDEN DRAGON POV (CH3)  
> THE BLACK WOLF POV : three weeks after THE QUIET WOLF POV (CH2 part 2)  
> THE FISH-WOLF AND THE YOUNG DIREWOLF POV :two weeks after THE FISH WOLF POV (CH3)  
> THE QUIET WOLF POV : two weeks after THE QUIET WOLF POV (CH3)  
> THE HIDDEN DRAGON : two weeks after THE EXILED DRAGON POV (CH4)  
> THE STARRY WOLF: two weeks after THE BLACK WOLF POV (CH4)

**The Exiled Dragon**

Daenerys today was reading a book that she had bought from the bazaars of Pentos. The book spoke of the Valyrian conquest during its years. She was disgusted by reading that her ancestors had used slavery to create an empire such as Valyria. If she would have a member she would have vehemently proposed against it. Right now she was running across the hallways, lifting the edges of her red skirt and made way to her brother’s solar. In front of the door she could see Viserys, dressed in black tunic and breeches, outside the door. She came and stood by him. Viserys pried the door open and the walked inside.

Inside they saw the familiar sight of their brother, but his hair had not been dyed and the silver-gold hair was proudly on display. Beside him stood a boy of her age, or around it.

“Daenerys, Viserys, meet my son by Lyanna Stark, Jaehaerys III Targaryen, the crown prince.” Her brother said. She was shocked. Brother’s son. Lyanna Stark. While Viserys had no doubt tried to sully the name of Lyanna Stark, calling her a whore and a slut, She could never bear to think her of like that. She knew her brother was not the one to take mistresses ot bed. The last name of the boy was enough to prove that. Her brother had married Lady Lyanna and she had given him a son.

“Uncle, Aunt, how are the both of you…….” He asked. One glance at Viserys face told her that he was angry, after comprehending what her brother had said. She again looked at Jaehaerys Targaryen. He had the silver-gold hair of the Targaryens’ and wine like eyes that any maiden would fall with. His eyes were literally the same shade of wine. He had lean but muscular body and his hair was tied back in a small pony. The fire of the brazier seemed to reflect off him, enveloping him in an unearthly pale shade. Jaehaerys Targaryen was beautiful.

“How…… how dare you bring this bastard here. How can you give him the Targaryen name. You cannot just throw it around.” Viserys stuttered, angrily. Rhaegar opened his mouth to speak but his newly found son cut him off.

“I think it would be good Uncle Viserys, if you do not try to imply that I am a bastard. It would indirectly imply that you see my mother as a mistress to my father. Ghost, and me don’t like people criticizing my family.” He said with a smirk. She didn’t know the reason of his smirk until she heard a growl behind her. She whipped her head to see a unbelievably tall wolf, which came to her waist glaring at Viserys. The wolf had white hair, as white as the snow and he had red eyes the color of blood. In the fire though they looked like two frozen chips of fire. She gave a proper look at Viserys. He was totally scared of the wolf that moved in round circles around him. At the end Ghost stopped an inch front of him and snapped his jaws at Viserys face. For a moment she feared the worse, that the wolf had bitten her brother’s face. But her brother was fine if not more pale that he actually was.

“Come here Ghost.” Jaehaerys called. The wolf bound happily towards him. Ghost, so that was the name of this magnificent beast. Jaehaerys pushed his hand in the alabino fur of the wolf. The way he moved his hand she really thought if the fur was that soft.

“What…. what is that abomination doing here?” Viserys asked, his voice shaky.

“That is not an abomination, it is a direwolf. And _he_ has a name, _Ghost_.” Jaehaerys said, his eyes narrowing down on Viserys.

“Viserys, calm yourself, Ghost is a pet.” Rhaegar said. The wolf came near to him and he scratched his ears. “Good boy, Ghost.” Rhaegar muttered.

“He is a pet. A dog is a pet, a direwolf is a beast. He nearly bit my face off.” Viserys said, springing to his feet.

“A dragon is also a beast, if it were here would you kill it?” Rhaegar asked.

“No….. no of course not. It’s the sigil of our house, dragons belong to Valyrians.” Viserys answered. He knew the pride he held for dragons, but she also knew what was going on here. They were using sigils to attack.

“You are wrong Viserys. Dragons don’t belong, they live with Valyrians, as Direwolves live with the Starks and I’m am also a Stark as much as I am a Targaryen.” Jaehaerys said, undermining Viserys.

“Anyhow, Daenerys, take Jaehaerys to his rooms, just opposite to yours. Jae take out your stuff and settle in your room, have lunch, if you want. Give Daenerys her present. Viserys stay here, I want to have a talk with you” Rhaegar said. Jaehaerys moved and stood by her side. The scent of pinewoods invaded her nose.

“Princess, please lead the way.” Jaehaerys asked, his voice soft and sweet like honey. She opened the door and both Jaehaerys and Ghost followed her to his rooms. On their way she abruptly asked Jaehaerys about her gift. “Don’t worry **_ñuha dārilaros_ ** , your gift is very apt and nice.” He said, mixing the common tongue of Westeros with sweet valyrian of Valyria.

“Um this is your room,” she said quietly, “and this is mine.” she said gesturing to the room opposite to her.

“I, know that **_dārilaros_ **. My father mentioned that your room would be my opposite.” At his words, heat began to form in her neck. She mentally chided herself for that mistake. She turned around wanting to go in her room and bury her face in her pillows but his voice cut that thought away.

“ **_Dārilaros_ **.” He said. She turned around at his words. “Would you like to have lunch with me?” He asked, sincerity coating his voice. She nodded at it. She stopped one of the going servants and told her to bring them lunch in his room. He then opened the door to the room.

His room like all the other rooms was very spacious with his own balcony. The floor was carpeted by a soft, Myrish rug, purple in color. The colors of the room were of different shades of green, red, blue and purple. She couldn’t fail to notice that these were only the darker colors that were present. On one side was a study table with a chair, equipped with parchment and ink. There was a plush bed in the middle of the room stuck to the wall, with purple covers adorning it. There were braziers as expected, because all of her family in Pentos, liked the warmth more. The table was put in the balcony with two chairs on adjoining side. Ghost silently pawed his way through the carpet and made his home at the edge of the bed. Jaehaerys chuckled at it. She gave a curious look to him.

“He was the same in Winterfell. Curling at the edge of my bed.” He explained to her non-asked question. But the answer gave rise to many more questions. He was raised at Winterfell, with Eddard Stark, the best friend of the usurper. She was shocked that the usurper didn’t kill him and she wanted to know why? The servants entered the room and place the dishes at the table.

“Before we begin **_dārilaros_ ** you should have your gift. It was at great lengths that father went to procure this for you.” Jaehaerys said. It really peaked her interest as to what Rhaegar had brought. He went and pulled the box up on his bed. He opened the latches only for her to find a mess of clothes. He cleared away the clothes and then she saw a sword inside it. The one which he had worn on himself was propped against the bed. She knew which sword it was as Rhaegar had told her about it. It was no surprise that Rhaegar had given the sword to Jaehaerys. The sword inside was another matter. The sheath was white in color which she could see in the edges, but was covered with dark leather. The leather was embossed with a red three headed dragon. Jaehaerys handed the blade to her. She handled the blade with care.

“Go on princess take out the blade.” He urged.

“You know you can call me Daenerys.” She said, and then she took out the blade. The blade was made of Valyrian steel, smoky in appearance, with ripples on its surface. The crossguard was made of gold designed in the shape of flames, with a ruby embedded in it, where it held the sword, while the hilt was was made of scaly black leather. The pommel of the sword was in the shape of flames. “What its name?”She ended up asking, staring wide-eyed at the blade.

“Dark Sister, wielded by Visenya Targaryen during the conquest.” Jaehaerys answered. “And you can call me Jae.” He added. She looked at him, wide-eyed, nodding frantically. Jae chuckled at it. But then she remembered that she didn’t know how to wield a blade.

“You don’t know how to wield a blade?” Jae asked, as if reading her thoughts. “Don’t worry Daenerys, I can teach you, if you want.” Jae said, offering his help. She hugged him tightly before she recognised what she had done. She immediately left his warm, soothing presence and had the decency to blush.

“Your welcome **_dārilaros_ ** , but I think we should eat our lunch now or it would get cold.” He went there and took out her chair offering her to sit. She sat on it and the he sat on the exact opposite of her. They then helped themselves to lunch.

**The Black Wolf**

Benjen Stark was back at the Wall, in Castle Black serving as their first ranger. Life for him had never been easy. The last son of Lord Rickard Stark, Benjen’s birth had led the mother of the Stark children to death. None of them had blamed him for it as Cersei Lannister hated her dwarf brother Tyrion Lannister, for getting her mother killed. Lyanna had been a constant mother for a major part of his childhood.

Tyrion Lannister, had so politely asked him to accompany him to the wall, because he wanted to piss at the edge of the known world. Tyrion’s company was never boring for him, due to Tyrion being such a quick-witted person, he could not match, no, no one could match Tyrion Lannister at the game of words. He was not sure as to why Tywin Lannister hated his dwarf son because he could win over any man at the battle of words.

Lyanna’s name brought forward the name of Jon in his mind. He had always loved Jon, probably because no one other that Ned or his children did. He was half with worry when he couldn’t find Jon’s faithful steed Shadow. Ned had immediately called for a search party to search the Wolf’s Wood and sent raven to all the houses towards the wall or the Sea to the east. He knew, almost, that Jon would go on and beckon his search for his family. So it was with a heavy heart that Benjen walked across towards Maester Aemon’s chambers to inform that he had a nephew born from the holy union of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark and that he didn’t where he was or how he was.

He walked up to the chambers of Maester Aemon. He knocked and was greeted by Chett who guided him inside to the maester’s solar. Maester Aemon’s solar was bare, but the heat inside the solar was a lot. It reminded him of Jon’s room. _The dragon’s blood._

“Chett, please move outside. I need to talk to the maester. Alone.” He said, emphasising on ‘Alone’. Chett moved out and gave him full need to talk to the maester. _Gods, Lyanna, give me courage for what I am going to do_. “Maester I need to talk to you about your family.”

“My family is the Nights Watch, Benjen Stark.” Aemon said, voice soft.

“Maester, i am going to uncover a secret that only three people in the whole world know about. Your great-grand nephew, Rhaegar had a son with my sister Lyanna. She named him Jaehaerys III Targaryen. He is alive. He ran away to Pentos to meet his Aunt and Uncle. I made a promise to tell no one about this but you are his blood. You need to know.” He said grasping the wizened man’s arms. His arms were a bit hotter than normal, but he had grown accustomed to it. When he looked at the old man’s face he could not see any amount of love or tension in it. _He knew it. Gods._

“I know it Benjen Stark. He came to visit. He looks like a Targaryen now. Before you ask, it is the blood of Old Valyria that distorted his appearance when he was born. No man except those of Baratheon blood have defeated the Targaryen features. Your nephew was no exception.” Aemon said, his voice somber. That is why they could not find Jon, he looked like a Valyrian each passing day. “ I need to tell you one more secret though Benjen Stark, one you cannot tell to anyone for your life.” Aemon said. He looked at him, his eyes pleading to maester Aemon to tell him. But the Maester asked him a question. “What are words of your house young Stark?” The maester asked. He did not know why he asked because a maester usually knew the word of every important house, yet he still answered.

“Winter is Coming. Maester. Those are the words.”

“Aye, Benjen Stark, Winter is Coming and you know what comes with them. After all every child of Westeros is told about the Long Night.” Aemon said. His voice was shaky. No the Maester certainly could not mean that. He could not mean about the grumpkins and snarks beyond the wall. He stood and walked himself out of the Maesters chambers, his mind focusing on the words that the maester had said. Winter is Coming and the dead come with it. That was the unofficial thing that he had said. He remembered the stories that Old Nan had told him when he was young. He walked to the courtyard where there was a commotion brewing. He had half a mind to shout for everyone to get back to positions until he saw who had come. He pushed his way to the front of his crowd and their eyes met.

“B...Brandon.” He stuttered as a plea. The Boy in front of him was fifteen years of age and looked so much like Brandon, his brother. The same face, the same hair, hell even the stocky body Brandon had seemed to go to this child. But the eyes, they were different. The were violet, like the ones possessed by House Dayne. This child was Brandon’s no doubt to that, but the mother was Ashara Dayne, the dornish beauty that had captured Brandon’s heart. He was not sure but that’s what he speculated.

“Benjen Stark.” the boy said in his southern accent. “I am Arthur Sand, the son of Ashara Dayne and your brother, Brandon Stark.” The boy, no Arthur, confirmed his speculation. With those words his whole world came crashing down.

**The Fish-Wolf and The Young Direwolf**

Catelyn Stark sat near the headpost of her son Bran’s bed. She was weaving a seven pointed star that she could put on the bed of her son, to make sure that the gods would protect her son and bring him back to her. Night had already fallen today and she could hear the howls of the direwolves. She had never liked the direwolves, for they were beasts and not pets but her children taken fabulously to the small pups. During the whole of her stay none of the direwolves had bitten a man, or caused harm to someone. They had grown very fast too the eldest, Grey Wind, which belonged to Robb already reaching above Robb’s waist. Summer, Bran’s direwolf that they had named him, was nowhere to be seen not since the past week. She didn’t know where he was but Robb had many a times said that he would no man until they harmed him. That he was tamed and would come back. She heard the doors creak and open and in entered Maester Luwin.

The maester of Winterfell was a supporting one and a knowledgeable one. Maester Luwin was a old grey man with grey eyes and thinning grey hair, wearing a woollen grey robe. The Maester wore so much grey that it was impossible to recognize him in the night near the walls of Winterfell, for they too were grey. His Maester’s chain comprised of many links, one of them being a Valyrian link signifying his studies in the higher mysteries.

He bowed to her and entered the room, his heavy steps resonating in her ears and hi chain rattling. He came and stood near Bran running his hands through Bran’s auburn locks. “It’s time you review the accounts my lady.” Luwin said, placing his hands in front of him. “You want to know how much this royal visit cost us.” She did, she really did, after all she had held the household of Winterfell ever since she had come here, but she couldn’t because she had a duty to look over after Bran.

“Talk to Poole about it.” She said half-heartedly. She continued stitching the star.

“Poole went south with Lord Stark my lady.” Luwin said. She looked at him telling him to tell it was wrong but it was not. “We need a new Steward and there are several other appointments that require our….”

“I don’t care.” She cut him off. She heard the thuds of boots and a voice cut in.

“I’ll make the appointments.” Robb’s voice cut in. Both of them turned their heads towards him. “We’ll talk about it first thing in the morning.” Robb said promising Maester Luwin.

“Very good my lord.” Luwin said. “My lady.” he said reverently and then left the room to her and Robb. Robb walked in the first thing he did was to open the windows, making the howling, cold wind inside the room. With the wind the howls of the direwolves and the barks of the dogs grew prominent.

“When was the last time you left this room, apart from going with me to the crypts.” Robb asked her rhetorically.

“I’ve to take care of him.” She said, her hands still working.

“He’s not going to die mother.” Robb reprimanded her. “Maester Luwin says that the most dangerous time has passed.”

“What if he’s wrong.” She said abruptly. “Bran needs me.”

“Rickon needs you. He’s three. He doesn’t know what’s going around here. He follows me around all day, clutching my leg. Crying.” Robb snapped at her. The howling of the wolves had grown too loud for her to bear.

“ Close the window. I can’t stand it. Please make them stop” She told him unable to bear it, her voice thick as the tears that threatened her eyes.

“Fire.” Robb said. She snapped her head at him. “You stay her I’ll come back.” Robb rabn towards the source of the fire. Unable to believe what she heard she stood up and went towards the window. There was a fire, in the library of Winterfell. The emergency bells were tolling. She turned back towards the door instead she saw a man.

The man was wearing a worn out black cloak with a hood covering his face. “Your not supposed to be ‘ere. No one supposed to be ‘ere.” He cast a glance at Bran. faer covered her mind. “It’s a mercy, he is dead already.” The man said, as he took out a dagger. He moved towards and Bran and worst came to her mind.

“No.” she shouted as she lunged at the man. The man retaliated with a backhand slap at her face. The taste of iron entered her mouth. Black spots began to dance in front of her eyes. The man clutched her hair and pulled at her holding the blade to her throat. She grabbed at the steel with her bare palms. The steel bit into her palm procuring torrents of blood from her palms, coating her finger and wrists and the blade. The man didn’t yield and inch as she slammed him into the wardrobe using the bed as a method to gain momentum. She then bit into the palm of the cutthroat, filling her mouth with the metallic taste of blood. _The cutthroat’s blood._ The cutthroat yelled as as she bit him. He quickly pushed her away her head hitting the chair as blackness took over her.

* * *

Robb ran towards the library exiting the Great Keep. he had already sent of Rickon to his room before going to meet his mother. He ran across the courtyard giving a loud whistle. Grey Wind and Shaggydog came to meet him.

“Shaggy, go keep Mother and Bran safe, Grey Wind with me.” Shaggydog ran towards the Great Kepp and reached it in a matter of seconds. The keep was almost halfway at a distance from where he stood. He looked at Grey Wind and read the wolf’s thoughts from his eyes. Though most consider it absurd, Robb always knew what the wolf was feeling or what he wanted.

“You want me to ride you.” Robb asked him. The wolf just bobbed its head. He smiled at the thought even in this grim situation. He had always wanted to ride Grey Wind but he had thought the wolf couldn’t handle his weight but here he was getting an invitation from him and he very couldn’t deny a direwolf. Grey Wind sat on its haunches and he slipped comfortable on him between the blades of his forelimbs and grabbed a fistful of his fur. Grey Wind then launched himself towards the library tower and they reached in a matter of seconds. He could see the shocked looks of the people as he dismounted from Grey Wind’s back.

“What are you staring at put off the fire.” He shouted at the people. The people started moving grabbing buckets of water and throwing it on the fire. He helped the people in putting of the fire. After he was certain that the fire had diminished and the people could put it off he again climbed on Grey Wind’s back and set off towards the Great Keep.

He launched himself up the stairs as soon as he got to the keep towards Bran’s room. When he entered the room it was a mess. His mother was lying on the ground knocked out, while there was another man, with a knife in his hands, laying beside Bran’s bed. The man’s throat had been bitten by Shaggydog, who was sitting on his haunches tears leaking from his eyes. At first he couldn’t connect the dots, but when he did tears were leaking profusely from his eyes.

“B…..Bran” He said, his voice thick with emotion. He walked towards him. There was blood pouring from Bran’s throat. He could not bear to see it, his eyes blurring from the tears.

“Why? Why? Why? Why?” He shouted at the ceiling. “What did Bran do to you. To anyone.” By the end of it he had broken into sobs. Grey Wind came and nuzzled himself in the crook of hi neck, offering him comforting presence. He hugged Grey Wind and blackness overtook him and he knew no more.

* * *

 

She woke to the blinding sunlight, that made her want to close her eyes again but closing her eyes meant the dreams of the man, that cutthroat, that had killed her son. She knew it before anyone woke her up and told her, her motherly instincts knew about it. She wanted to deny it, she wanted to deny that her Bran had been killed. He beautiful boy had been robbed of his dreams of becoming like Ser Arthur, when he fell, now her boy was so far away from her, that only death could bring them close.

No child wanted to bury her mother, but no mother wanted to bury her child but she had to. She had to bury her beautiful boy. She couldn’t do it but she opened her eyes and was met with the same blue eyes of her eldest, Robb.

“Mother…..” Was all he said before he buried himself at the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him, her hand with which she held the dagger still paining. Robb eased himself out of her arms.

“Mother, I went to the broken tower, to the window from which Bran allegedly fell. I found clumps of hair there, Mother.” He said, his voice broken. “Lannister hair. Bran was pushed, Mother. The Lannister’s want war mother, I shall give it to them. They have spilled Stark blood.”

“My lord, I would advise against it. We have no proof that it was the Lannister who threw your brother and it was the Lannister’s who paid the cutthroat to kill your brother.” Maester Luwin’s kind voice advised Robb. She could feel his hands tense where she held him.

“But no ordinary, person sent that cutthroat. The dagger is valyrian steel, the hilt dragonbone.” Ser Rodrik’s firm voice spoke. She hadn’t seen him too. She had only seen Robb. “Someone rich had paid him off.”

“We will go to war, and I’ll stand behind you Robb.” Theon Greyjoy’s voice spoke. She just wondered how many more people were there.

“Where will you go to war, in here, the Maester’s turret.” Luwin admonished him.

“No, Robb, stay here, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I will go to Kings Landing and tell Lord Stark of what had transpired here. I’ll tell him what our notions are.” She said with firmness, in her voice. She needed to see Ned, needed to tell him what had happened.

“No mother. You cannot. Not possibly in such a state.” Robb argued.

“No Robb it must be me who has to go. You have your duty in Winterfell. I’ll leave in three days after Bran’s burial.” She said, her decision final.

“My lady, at least take me with you. The Kingsroad is not a safe place for a lady such as you. Let me be there to protect you.” Ser Rodrik protested.

“Fine, Ser Rodrik. You will go with me.” She said as she stood up and went to resume to her duties again. First she would go to Bran and then she would avenge him.

**The Quiet Wolf**

Even before he arrived at King’s Landing he could smell the shit, the piss, and all the other awful smells that had accompanied it. He could see the red towers of the Red Keep rise in the distance. The Red Keep was made by the, Maegor the Cruel, and he had killed all the workers who had made the keep, so no one could discern its secrets. They were walking along the Kingsroad, which ended up leading them to the Dragon Gate. Arya and Sansa both were on their ponies, beside Jory. He had never trusted anyone except his guards from the North. Sansa, who he never thought would ride a horse, was now riding a horse as good as a mediocre. That had shocked him. What had shocked him even more was that, she was wearing something akin to breeches that she had sew herself and a gown cut on the sides to allow her to ride better. _Riding is in Stark blood._ She was even more jovial towards Arya, though he suspected that was after Lady and Nymeria had been handed a death sentence.

They entered through the Dragon Gate trotting up to the broken ruins of the Dragonpit. All the men that had been in been eyeing the massive structure with dread. The legendary place that held the dragons of house Targaryen until they had wiped out after the Dance of Dragons. The Dragonpit was a mammoth ruin, made of blackened iron or bronze no one knew. Before the Dragonpit a sept had been made on Rhaenys’ Hill, the Sept of Remembrance. Maegor the Cruel had destroyed the sept during the rise of the Faith Militant. They came across the doors of the Dragonpit. It was said that thirty knights could ride abreast into the pit without any resistance.

In a distance he could see the Great Sept of Baelor, made by the Septon-King Baelor I Targaryen, called Baelor the Blessed or Baelor the Beloved. The Sept of Baelor was made on Visenya’s Hill surrounded by white marble plaza. He could easily see the statue of Baelor, on his plinth. Large gardens surrounded the sept. he could see the massive marble domed structure with seven large towers surrounding it. Each tower contained a bell which were rung at different times. _Even though Robert has removed almost all Targaryens, their massive structures still live._ It was almost as if the structures were taunting Robert saying, ‘No matter you have removed the Targaryens’, we are still here, reminding you that this belonged to the Targaryens’ and no one else is fit for it.’ They walked down from the Dragonpit towards the Guildhall of the Alchemists, made of black marble. His head throbbed at walking at the head of his party, the summer sun beating on his back. He remembered the stares he had gotten after the Sack of King’s Landing. The accusing stares, he could still see them. He shook his head attempting to clear his head of such thoughts. Soon they entered the gates of the Red Keep, he could see the Baratheon banners, the Black crowned Stag on a gold field, flowing everywhere. He dismounted from his horse and saw a young acolyte speedily walking towards his direction.

“Welcome Lord Stark.” The acolyte said bowing his head. “Grand Maester Pycelle has requested a meeting of the small council at the honor of your presence.” The acolyte informed. He looked at Septa Mordane and Jory.

“Get girls settled in. I’ll be back in time for supper. ” The septa nodded her head at it. “And Jory go with them.” He looked back at acolyte.

“If you’d like to change into something more appropriate.” The acolyte said. Something more appropriate. Was this not enough. He took off his gloves and saw the young acolyte’s eyes betray worry. The acolyte turned and walked towards the throne room, in whose antechambers the Small council would convene. He followed the acolyte to the throne room.

Once he arrived, the oak and bronze doors were opened by the two gold cloaks flanking it. A long carpet was stretched straight from the door to the foot of the monstrosity called the Iron Throne. The Throne was supposedly made from the the thousand swords that Aegon the Conqueror had won in all his wars. The throne contained of numerous twisted swords, melted swords, oddly bent ones. That throne was truly a monstrosity. What did Aegon the Conqueror say, _Only the worthy may truly find a seat on that throne._ The pale red stone of the red keep was embossed with the three-headed dragon of house Targaryen. _Another relic._ But all of that was not what drew his eye. What drew his eye was the sitting form of Ser Jaime, with his white Kingsguard Armor, with the white cloak on his shoulders. If he would have been in Robert’s place, the Kingslayer would not be here, he would be at the wall. Yet he was here.

“Thank the gods you are here Stark. About time we had some stern northern leadership.” He could see the Kingslayer’s smirk as he stood up, hand on the pommel of his sword.

“Glad to see your protecting the throne.” he said, wanting to remind the Kingslayer of his crimes.

“A sturdy old thing. I wonder how many Kings’ arses have polished it, and what’s the line,... ‘The King shits and the Hand wipes.’” The Kingslayer said, mockingly.

“Very nice armor. Not a scratch on it.” He said. The Kingslayer seemed to inspect his armor before answering him.

“I know. People have been swinging it at me for years but the always seem to miss.” The mocking still didn’t evade him.

“You’ve chosen your opponents wisely then.” He said. The Kingslayer just nodded and then he spoke.

“I’ve knack for it.” There was a tense silence for a few seconds. “Must be strange for you. Coming into this room.” Aye, he had to admit. It was strange. This was where his nephew’s brother and sister were presented. This was where his brother and father were killed. The Kingslayer, just looked at ground below him. “I’m standing right here, where it happened. He was very brave your brother. Your father too. He didn’t deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that.” Yes he was brave, but it was the wolf’s blood in him. Brandon Stark, the better one, the handsome one. All of them used to say that. The Wild Wolf, people of the north had crowned him, just as he was called The Quiet Wolf. He was right, nobody deserved to die like that. It was because of the false abduction of his sister and the inhumane killing of Lord Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon Stark that had made the north join the rebellion.

“You just stood there and watched.” He said, voice filled with scorn.

“Five hundred people just stood there and watched. All the great knights of the seven kingdoms, you think anyone said a word, lifted a finger. No one Stark. Five hundred men stood there and watched and this room was as silent as a crypt.” The Kingslayer corrected. “Except for the screams of course.” Even the death of his Father and Brother was a jape to this man. He could not have his mood soured anymore. “The Mad King laughed, and then when I shoved by sword in his back, I remembered him laughing as he burned your father and strangled your brother to death, it felt like justice.”

He couldn’t discern the man in front of him of him right now. Anger was boiling inside him in palpable waves. “Is that what you tell yourself when you sleep at night. That you are a servant of justice. That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword through Aerys Targaryen’s back.” The Kingslayers face had lost a bit of color at the words, he could see it. But he also knew that the knight in front of hi would reply with some jape. And he did.

“Would you like me better if I had shoved my sword in his belly?” The Kingslayer asked.

“You served him well. When serving was safe.” He said. When he looked at his face he could see the momentary loss of words on his face. He just walked past him to the antechamber where the council would convene.

The antechamber connected to the throne room was a one lit only by the various candles placed. There was little sunlight entering but enough that the room was properly lit. A pair of valyrian sphinxes were placed on either side. There was a large table in the middle of the room, elaborately carved, stuck to the ground with a three headed dragon embossed on it. Two throne like chairs were placed on either head, one being smaller. One could easily understand which chair was for which person. The other six chairs were placed on either side, three and three, but only a total of four people occupied the chairs.

“Lord Stark.” one of them spoke. He was bald, and wore rich silks the color of plum and soft slippers. The scent of lavender entered his nose. Both his hands were outstretched to greet him. This could only be Lord Varys, the Master of Whisperers.

“Lord Varys.” he greeted him, Stoic, shaking his hand.

“I was grievously sorry for your trouble on the Kings Road. we are all praying for Prince Joffrey’s recovery.” Varys said, gesturing to the other council members.

“Shame you didn’t send prayer for the butcher’s son.” he moved before he could look on the shock that covered Varys’ face. The spotted Renly amongst them. Renly wasn’t hard to spot, with the Baratheon black hair and blue eyes. Renly had been appointed Robert’s Master of Laws.

“Renly.” He greeted the boy with a hug. “You look well.” He clapped his back.

“And you look tired from the road. I told them this meeting could wait but-”

“But we have a kingdom to look after.” Another voice cut in. He looked at the man. He was short in build, with a pointed chin which had a small pointed beard. He had dark hair, with streaks of grey running between them. He had grey-green eyes, like a cat. The most important was the mockingbird clasp on the cloak. This man could only be Petyr Baelish, or Littlefinger as most called him. “I’ve waited for a long time to meet you Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me.”

“She has Lord Baelish.” He said, as he took off his cloak. “I assume you knew my brother Brandon as well.”

“Oh too well. I still carry a token of his esteem. From navel to collarbone.” He said gesturing to the place where Brandon had cut him.

“Perhaps you should chose a wrong man duel with.” he said in good humor.

“Oh it wasn’t the man I chose. It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for I am sure you’ll agree.” Baelish said a full blown smirk on his face. Oh how he wanted to wipe it off now.

“I humbly beg your pardon my Lord Stark.” Maester Pycelle said.

“Grand Maester.” He acknowledged. The wizened man nodded at it.

“How many years has it been. You were a young man.” Pycelle said.

“And you served a different king.” he stated. The was a loss of words for a moment before Pycelle reached into his folds.

“Oh how forgetful of me. This belong to you now.” Pycelle stated, handing him the Hands clasp. “Should we begin.” All the present council members took their seats.

“Without the King?” He asked them.

“Winter may be coming but the same cannot be said about my brother.” Renly said.

“His grace has may cares. He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load.” Varys said, adding on to Renly.

“We are the Lords of Small Matters.” Baelish japed. Renly presented him a scroll, which he took and opened, while he sat on his chair.

“ By brother instructs to stage a tourney, in honor of Lord Stark appointment as Hand of the King.” Renly stated.

“Mmmm… How Much?” Baelish asked.

“Forty thousand gold dragons to the champion. Twenty thousand to the runner up. Twenty thousand to the winning archer.” He answered Baelish’s question.

“Can the treasury afford such expenses?” Pycelle asked.

“I’ll have to borrow from the Lannisters. We already owe them three million gold dragons what’s another eighty thousand.” Baelish said. Three million. No that wasn’t possible. Aerys Targaryen left a full treasury at the end of his reign.

“Are you telling me the crown is three million in debt.” He said, surprise.

“I’m telling you the crown is six million in debt.” Baelish said.

“How could you let this happen.” He asked the council members.

“The Master of Coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it.” Baelish said.

“I cannot believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm.” He said heatedly.

“Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn’t always listen to it.” Pycelle said.

“Counting coppers he calls it.” Renly said.

“I’ll speak to him tomorrow. This tourney is an extravagance we cannot afford.” H said.

“As it is, but we best make plans.” Baelish said.

“There will be no plans. Until I speak to Robert.” He shot back, loud and clear. He looked at the face of his Lords. Oh dammit what had he done. He held his face in his hands. “Forgive me my Lords. I had a long ride.”

“You are the Kings Hand Lord Stark. We serve at your pleasure.” Varys said.

“Very well my Lords, I believe that this council session is at an end.” He said. All of them Stood up and walked out from the antechamber leaving only him and his thoughts.

**The Hidden Dragon**

In the first few days he had roamed most of Illyrio’s big manse. He had also kept some distance with Viserys spending more times with Daenerys. He and Daenerys had grown into quick friends, with him being able to play the harp and she being able to sing they had become minstrels for most of their part. They had spent a lot of time singing underneath the trees and more than once he had had a fluttering feeling in his belly. Daenerys was certainly very pleasant to look at. They even shared a lot of common features, such as their nose, the slant of their eyebrows, shape of their lips, their high cheekbones. Even the color of their hair was similar, a silver-gold, like his father and grandmother. They shared a lot of their lives. She sharing how she lived in Braavos with old Ser Willem Darry, how viserys was good at first but grew more cruel after he sold their mother’s crown. She had even told him how the ring she wore was the last relic of her mother. He in turn told her of how he lived in Winterfell. He still remembered their conversation.

_“You told me how you lived in Winterfell, with Lord Stark. How come the Usurper didn’t kill you.” She asked, him curiosity shining in her eyes._

_“Daenerys, have you heard that the Valyrian’s possessed magic in their veins?” He asked her, in return. She just nodded in return. “Well when I was born, I had the features that you see now, but when I lived in Winterfell, I lived another life. I lived the life of a bastard named Jon Snow. My dragon’s blood was still there, but I looked like a Stark. The magic in veins made me look like a Stark, so Lord Stark claimed me as his own bastard. To save his nephew he allowed a stain on his honor.”_

Daenerys had been shocked at first, after hearing about magic and all but he just told her to ask to ask his father about it. When father had affirmed it she had looked like she had seen a ghost.

Ghost had also taken a liking to her, the direwolf never left her side until he thought she was safe. The very first night of when he had come to the manse Ghost had already snuck into her room and slept on her bed. In the morning when he had found out what had happened he was both angry and happy. Angry because Ghost had not been with him and happy because Ghost had found another friend in Daenerys. He had told her about Winterfell, every small detail he could remember. The walls, the other direwolves, the heart tree. He also told her that Winterfell was made atop hot springs, which continuously pumped water into the walls. He also told her that how Robb and he would go take a dip in the Hot Springs and could stay there for how many minutes. He of course had emerged victorious always.

After he had given her Dark Sister, she wanted to train how to use a sword. She had also shown him a Valyrian steel dagger that Viserys had gotten for her, well she had forced Viserys to get it for her. They had started to train with blunted swords, heavier than Dark Sister and Blackfyre, so they could use their swords easily in real battle. One day Viserys had stopped their training presenting himself as a better swordsman than him. He remembered that day very nicely.

_He and Dany, as Daenerys had allowed him to call her, were practicing in the courtyard. Well he was teaching Dany how to use a sword sok she could use Dark Sister. Dany, as she had no tunics or breeches of her own was wearing his that he had given her._

_Left. Right. Slash .Stab, and the routine continued. Most of the times he had hit Dany but she had not made the same mistake twice. She was a fast learner he had to admit that. Many times she was covered up with small red marks on her arms and legs but he had assured that they would fade within the next day or so. He was pretty use to giving her massages, because he knew that the muscles hurt a lot after a practice, he had never gotten massages but when he saw Robb get one he had quickly learned. Many times even Robb had come to give him massages and he knew how soothing it felt._

_Giving her a massage was one thing, but feeling her as her skin molded underneath his fingers was another matter at all. Her moans of how good he was didn’t help at all. He knew that shouldn’t have been thinking those thoughts . By the gods she was his Aunt, but he also knew about the incestuos relationships of his ancestors. Little helped him after he had seen her in that gown which she had worn, flaunting her curves. He had been awestruck at that moment, mouth agape. She laughed at his expense and he had the decency to blush at that._

_Right now, he could see through the periphery of his eyes, Viserys was coming towards them wearing a haughty expression on his face._

_“Dear Sister, why do you learn from him? I could teach you better.” Viserys said, sneering at him all the while. Dany started to say something but he cut him to it._

_“Well Viserys, Daenerys wants to learn from me, she asked me for my help. Did you not Daenerys?” I said to both Viserys and Daenerys respectively. Dany just nodded at it, meekly, as if she was afraid she would anger Viserys._

_“We’ll fight then. Whoever wins, will teach Daenerys.” Viserys said, drawing out his sword. I went and picked up Blackfyre from the side. Blackfyre had a crossguard made of silver, with dragons on the end, the hilt had black scaly leather, and the pommel had a red ruby cut in the shape of a kite. The blade itself was longer than Viserys’ longsword, due to it being a bastard sword. He took out the blade and approached Viserys. He could see Viserys’ face pale a bit. Regular steel never fared well against valyrian steel and valyrian steel cut sharper._

_He took his stance while Viserys took his. Viserys whole stance was a pity to be looked at. Sword arm drooped, legs place very closely. Viserys attacked first, and went straight to strike. He sidestepped his attack. He again attacked him, swinging wildly, he ducked at it. He could see Viserys’ face red in anger the huffs’ of his breath evident. This time he attacked slashing his sword in a downward arc. Viserys’ brought up his blade but Blackfyre cut through it like knife through hot butter. The broken part of the sword clanged on the ground and he walked away to put the sword back in its sheath. He didn’t wait to see Viserys’ shocked face._

Since that day Viserys’ had never troubled them. Dany had come and hugged him that day and he very well welcomed it. She had thanked him for what he had done and that Viserys would never come and trouble her from that day until he was there. Since then he had never strayed away from Dany, always being present with her, and more than once he had found himself staring at her, admiring her strength. He had grown to like Daenerys Targaryen a lot and no one would harm her till he was here.

Today he was teaching Dany how to wield a dagger. Today was the last day they were going to spend in Pentos because father had wanted them to move as fast as we can to Volantis. In Volantis they would buy a sellsword company and make their move towards Westeros, where they were sure to have the support of many great houses.

“Come on Dany, arms a bit wide on your side, knees shoulder apart, back straight. Yes just like this, now hold on for a while.” He said as he instructed Dany. “Good, just like this, now swipe your dagger at the throat in a upward arc.” Dany siped just like that. “Good, now one last thing before you have your massage.”

“What. No. You said this was the last thing of today. And anyway my arms and legs are hurting.” She grumbled.

“You don’t have to use anything. Just watch.” He said. He went and brought out the straw dummy that he placed an armor on. He picked up a dagger that was lying on the table. “A dagger doesn’t have much of a reach so you must know the pressure points were by striking you can make them bleed fast or give an instant kill. The first is the throat, the second the eye, third the belly. If you land a strike at these places the person will die if he doesn’t receive medical help soon. The most favoured is the throat, because people wear armor and that protects the belly.” He instructed to her pointing at the various places. “This begins your massage time.” He said. Dany liked, no loved massages. She was always giddy at it. He himself couldn’t help himself at giving herself massages, well he got to see a bit of more skin at it. Not the privates of course. She went into the bathroom, changed into her daily massage clothes, came and laid down on my bed.

The started to press his fingers to the major pressure points of her arms and her back. Soon he started to get her appreciative responses. He moved his hands to her calves and kneaded the soft muscle underneath them. Her muscles were developing a definite shape after two weeks of practice with sword and dagger alike. Soon he could feel her body relax into the covers as if she was going to sleep here. He quickly caught on to it, she was almost going to sleep here.

“Dany you can’t sleep here.” he said as he poked his fingers at her ribs.

“Why not?” she asked, mumbling, her voice tired.

“Because people will talk if they see us in one bed.” he said.

“Who will. The servants don’t talk.” She said draping herself over one side of the bed.

“Fine, the servants don’t talk, but what if father sees us like this in the morning if when comes to wake us up.” he argued.

“Rhaegar, won’t to anything Jae, just come and sleep. If he does talk, I’ll tell him I was tired and I fell asleep.”

“Fine.” He grumbled. He took off his tunic and wore a thin shirt. He then went to the other side of the bed and made himself comfortable over there. He soon fell into a dream.

_He was in a castle. The castle was smaller that Winterfell and was made of pale red stone instead of the grey stone. He had never been to castle such as this before, but still it felt familiar. He could see the three headed dragon embossed on many a tiles of this keep. When he looked outside the window he saw the massive Dragonpit. Then all of it clicked. This was the Red Keep. He walked fast in the hallway until he reached a oak and bronze door. He pushed the door to dee the Great Hall. in front of him was the huge monstrosity, called the Iron Throne. All melted swords, broken ones and what not. Atop the throne sat a man, wearing gold and black robes. The man had black hair and blue eyes, the color of storm. He had a massive warhammer in hi hand. On the foot of the throne there was a old man, bald, with a few blonde hairs on the sides. The man had cat-green eyes, flecked with gold. There were two bundles laind in front of him. From his position Jae could not see what was in those bundles, but the crown around the man looked shocked. However the man atop the throne had a triumphant smirk._

_“Dragonspawn.” Those were the only words that the man spoke. Then he understood. The bundles contained Aegon and Rhaenys. White hot anger burst inside him but he could not move. Robert Baratheon picked up his warhammer and started walking towards him. All he could do was stare at the usurper._

_“Wake up. Wake up Jae, wake up.” Some foreign voice spoke in his ears._

_Just then Baratheon’s bloody warhammer came on his face._

He shot up from his sleeping position, breathing hard, shirt soaked. His chest heaved after such a terrifying dream. He saw Dany, worry etched in her face. He quickly grabbed her into a hug, and she hugged him back, her hands wounding in his hair.

“I saw him Dany. I saw the usurper. I saw the dead bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys. He was happy Dany. He had them killed and he was happy about it.” He croaked, in her ear.

“Shhh….. Jae. You need to rest. It is the middle of the night. I’ll stay here, like this, and then you won’t have bad dreams.” She mumbled into his ear. “But before you sleep, you are all sticky with sweat. I’ll just clean you.”

Dany put her hands on the hem of his shirt and lifted it up. He could see a faint rosy blush on her cheeks, her lips, parted. She took a spare bit of cloth and dipped it into the bowl of water. She gently moved the cloth over his body, on his chest, abdomen and back. Her movements were slow and sensual. She put the cloth back on the side table and laid him back in the middle of the bed. Dany draped an arm on his torso and kept her head on his chest, and fell to sleep listening to his heart beats. He buried his head in her hair inhaling the lemon scent that came off her. Soon he also fell into a deep sleep, one which was not marred by dreams.

**The Starry Wolf**

Arthur Sand, the bastard son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, was here in his room on the wall, where he wanted to serve. Why did a bastard from Dorne want to serve in the Nights Watch? Well even he didn’t know just that he wanted to get away from Dorne from everywhere. Bastards were not blighted as they were in the Seven Kingdoms. The reason he wanted to go away from Dorne was because inDorne he was slighted as the nephew of the northern whore. His father was killed by the Mad King while his mother watched. His mother threw herself from the Palestone Sword Tower after his uncle Eddard Stark had arrived with the body of his other uncle, his namesake, Ser Arthur Dayne. The uncle which he had lived with, Lord Alister Dayne, had brought him up with his cousin Edric Dayne. He had kept correspondence with his uncle in the North, and Eddard Stark, or Ned as he let himself be called as was a honorable man. He had the wolf’s blood that his father had carried but he had been a bit successful at that but it had erupted more than a few times. He was an excellent rider, a jouster, a swordsman, but when he read about the Wall he had an urge to go there. The had somewhere read that a Stark of Karstark from each generation had gone to the wall to serve. Bastard or Highborn didn’t matter. That is why he was on the wall, and even in such a chilling climate, he felt as though he was home.

He had struck a quick friendship with his uncle Benjen Stark, and Tyrion Lannister. For a man who was a dwarf, Tyrion Lannister had an awfully big head, and quick wits to match.he had also made a friend from the south. Samwell Tarly, firstborn of Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill. Samwell Tarly was all that a man like Randyll Tarly didn’t want as son. He was bookish, fat, and couldn’t swing a sword even if he wanted to. The first few days at the wall made Samwell Tarly earn a name, Ser Piggy, he was called. He had welcomed the man with open arms in his small group of friends he had formed. By making Samwell Tarly a friend he had also made an enemy of Ser Alliser Thorne, the master at arms. The man was bitter, humorless and didn’t tolerate a joke. He was very strict and had given him many challenges, but being the son of Brandon Stark and nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne had made him inherit sword skills and horse riding skills like none other.

Today had been the selection of where people would go as as what they would serve. He had high hopes of becoming a ranger because he was a better rider and swordsman than any of the others. He wanted to go look for his uncle Benjen Stark beyond the wall where they had said him to be lost. All his hopes had been dashed when Lord Commander Jeor Mormont had proclaimed him steward. His wolf’s blood had been hot at that time and he was angry, very angry. When Maester Aemon had proclaimed him to be the steward for the lord commander himself he was rude to the kind maester.

It was after that Sam had come and explained what a boon it could have been. Being the Lord Commander’s steward made him privy to personal information, he would be there in the meetings, he could suggest the Lord Commander on various topics. Pyp had even told them how a high lord had wanted to touch his cock. When he had refused, the lord wanted to get his hands cut off but he chose to join the Night’s Watch, deserting his family for another one, among rapers, thieves, poachers and what not. Sam had also made a decision to come and take his vow in front of the old gods. He wanted to take the vow in front of the gods his father and his family had believed in. So now here he was on a horse, in a ice tunnel, towards a heart tree, a mile away from the wall. When the portcullis opened he saw the land beyond the wall for the first time. The land beyond the wall had a strange, dangerous beauty to it, with its snow capped mountains to a distance the haunted forest directly in front of them. After a while they reached the haunted forest. The forest had an eerie silence about itself. The only that he could hear were the rustling of leaves, and the snapping of twigs underneath the hooves of their horses. After a while the reached the heart tree which was there in all its splendor. The crimson leaves of the tree contrasted beautifully with its white bark. The face of the heart tree was one of a morose one, red sap leaking from the eyes, looking as if it were leaking tears of blood. They knelt at the base of the heart tree to say their vows.

“Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come.” He and Sam said together.

“You knelt as boys and now you rise as men.” One of the brother’s said. He stood up and helped Sam up. He embraced his black brothers clapping them hard on their backs. That was when he heard a whine.

“Sam did you hear that?” he questioned his friend. Sam just shook his head but he was not entirely convinced. He went around the heart tree and into the woods a bit further than he actually should have. To his surprise he found a dead direwolf there, the fur crusted with snow, eyes lifeless and pale. The only thing that could indicate of her death were the frozen pups laying around her. _The direwolf died birthing its children but the children will also not be able to see the sunlight._ Then he heard the whine again. It was coming from the dead direwolf. He approached the wolf cautiously and rolled over her dead body. To his surprise he found a alive direwolf, there, on the verge of death. He picked up the pup. The pup had sun-brown fur and amber eyes that looked like sunrise itself. _Dawn._ The pup gave a yelp at that.

“I said that aloud didn’t I. Dawn that is your name right.” The pup again yelped. “Come Dawn, I’ll keep you safe my little direwolf.”

“Arthur, come here, we’ve found someone.” Sam’s voice shouted. He rushed back to where the heart tree was. On the ground were laid two man, their cloak the color of a raven’s wing. Brother’s of the Night’s Watch had been found. Dead. he just held his breath to see if one of them was uncle Benjen. But it wasn’t. Uncle Benjen was still out there alive. He could feel it. Dawn began to whine at the sight of the dead men.

“Is that a wolf pup?”Sam asked.

“No it’s a Direwolf, and it’s mine. The name is Dawn.” Arthur replied to him. He could see Sam’s face blanch at the word direwolf but no more questions were asked.

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

 

[Arthur Sand](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/d/d7/Brandon_stark_the_wild_wolf_by_mike_hallstein-dadi0nx.jpeg)

[Samwell Tarly](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/75/Colin_Boyer_samwell_tarly.jpg)

[Blackfyre](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/2/27/Blackfyre_by_Velvet_Engine.png)

[Dark Sister](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/8/8b/Dark_Sister_by_Velvet_Engine.png)

[Petyr Baelish](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/1/1c/Sardag_littlefinger.jpg)

[Pycelle](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/72/491a54229c5cd468e7c7e6a3f781f833-d72jw2i.jpg)

[Varys](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/1/14/Varys_by_Amoka.jpg)

[Renly Baratheon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/4/4a/Renly_Fantasy_Flight_Games.jpg)

[Dawn(Grown)](https://www.deviantart.com/feralkyn/art/Dire-Wolf-Color-209034584)

[Shaggydog](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/a/ad/CarrieBest_Shaggy.jpg)

[Summer](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/4/43/Mark_Evans_Bran_Stark.png)

[Jaime Lannister](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/f/f8/MagaliVilleneuve_JaimeLannister.jpg)

[Tyrion Lannister](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/78/Tyrion_as_Hand.jpg)

[Ice](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/0/0e/Ice%2C_Sword_of_Eddard_Stark.jpg)

[Dragonpit](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/2/25/Franz_Miklis_thedragonpit_closeup.jpg)

[Sept of Baelor](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/8/8b/Great_septon_of_Baelor_by_MarcSimonetti.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow the description of the pommel as given in CH2 THE QUIET WOLF POV (Part 1).  
> Ñuha dārilaros: My prince/ princess. (acccording to who delivers the dialogue).  
> Dārilaros: Prince/ Princess.


	5. CH5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE STUNTED LION POV: one week after THE STARRY-WOLF POV(CH4)  
> THE FISH-WOLF POV: one month after THE FISH -WOLF AND THE YOUNG DIREWOLF POV(CH4)  
> THE LADY DIREWOLF: one week after THE QUIET WOLF POV(CH4)  
> THE QUIET WOLF: same day as THE LADY DIREWOLF POV(CH5)  
> THE WILD DIREWOLF: same day as THE LADY DIREWOLF POV(CH5)  
> THE DRAGONWOLF PRINCE: three weeks after THE HIDDEN DRAGON POV(CH4)

**The Stunted Lion**

Tyrion Lannister, son of Lord Tywin Lannister and late Lady Joanna Lannister, called the Imp, the Dwarf of Casterly Rock, rode with his guards Jyck and Morrec towards the looming, grey walls of Winterfell. He had journeyed North towards the wall and he had seen the poor state of the Night’s watch himself. While he was very impressed by the Wall, which sone like a single jewel when the sunlight stroke it, splashing various colors, the same could not be said for the state of the castle on the Wall. Only three castles were manned by the Night’s Watch, Castle Black, Shadow Tower to the west, and Eastwatch to the east as the name suggested. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, was as honorable as Eddard Stark, it seemed to him honor ran in almost every northman’s veins. The Night’s Watch which in the beginning had boasted of about ten thousand men, had now been reduced to thousand men, and more than ever the ranging parties went missing and the wildlings beyond the wall were fleeing south in all haste. The Lord Commander had asked him to make his father and the King aware of the watch’s needs. During the journey north, he had also made good friends with Benjen Stark, both of them having one thing in common. Their mothers died after they were born in childbed. Benjen stark was not all serious like Eddard Stark and had his fair share of humorous times.

One his two weeks at the wall, he had also found the company of Arthur Sand. The boy was dornish bastard, well half a dornish one and half a northern one. The son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, had all the Stark features but the same violet eyes that his mother possessed. Arthur Sand looked more a Stark that his own cousin Robb Stark. When he asked the boy why he had left the comforts of Dorne for a frozen wall, the boy had said that the northern winds of the wall soothed his blood more than the dornish heat. The maester at Castle Black was the one he was used to spend time with. Quick witted and smart even for his age Maester Aemon was a genius. He had nearly pissed himself when the Maester had said that his hair had been silver since his birth. _A Targaryen. A fucking Targaryen right here in Castle Black._ He had pissed in his breeches when he had said it.

Right now he was trotting through the Hunter’s Gate in to the walls of Winterfell. He could see the hostile stares of the people of Winterfell. He really didn’t know what had happened, or was it just the name Lannister attached to his name. He didn’t bother with it. He just kept trotting towards the stables. When he reached the stables he dismounted.

“Jyck, keep the horses with you. Morrec come with me.” He ordered the two guards. He made way towards the Great Hall of Winterfell where he could meet with Robb Stark.

When he entered the Great Hall he was cornered by two direwolves. He fell back on his ass, unable to help himself at the situation. He could hear the low menacing growls from the mouths of the wolves promising a bad death, full of blood and gore.

“Shaggydog, Greywind leave him.” A young voice spoke. The growls of the wolves ceased and they left him alone the black one going to the boy who spoke. On looking at him he recognized him as Rickon Stark, the youngest son of Eddard Stark. The black one bowed in front of him mewling at the boy’s like a newborn pup, rather than a direwolf taller than him. He looked in front of him and saw Robb Stark sitting on the throne of the Winter Kings. The throne of the Winter Kings was a impressive sight, made of iron with stone carved direwolves on the armrests and the runes of the First Men engraved on its sides, it really looked like a throne. Robb Stark sat on the throne, his auburn hair, straight reaching to the nape of his neck. Unlike his father Robb Stark kept his hair free. At his side a massive grey direwolf stood, its height reaching the height of Robb Stark, while he was sitting on the throne. On the armrest of the throne was a sword propped up, taller than Robb Stark, the crossguard in the shape of two snarling wolves and the pommel a wolf the color of smoke grey and eyes made of chips of topaz. The pommel represented the direwolf beside the throne. _Ice_ , he remembered. The ancestral sword of House Stark. A crown on his head and Robb Stark would look more like a King that his nephew Joffrey could ever be.

“Lord Tyrion, perhaps you may tell us what you are doing here? I was under the impression that you were going to depart straight to the Westerlands from the wall.” Robb Stark asked.

“I was, but I thought that I could leave Lord Brandon a present, hearing that he is crippled. Fall from a tower people say.” He answered, all in good health. When he looked at the young Lords face all he saw was his mouth pressed hardly.

“You come here to give my brother a present who was killed by a catspaw from your family, who was thrown from the tower from a Lannister.” Stark said. Killed was the only word that pounded on his head. Brandon Stark was killed by a catspaw. Brandon Stark was heaved, from a tower by his family. Robb Stark was blaming him, but he needed to be sure that it was really someone from his family.

“How do you prove that it was a member from my family Lord Stark?” He asked.

“We found clumps of hair. Long, Lannister gold hair, from where my brother was heaved.” Stark answered, softly but full of anger. The details weighed heavy on him. Cersei, was the only name that came to his mind. The hair fit perfectly to her description.

“Well Lord Stark, I am completely innocent of the crimes that any Lannister may have done. As you can see, I’ve pale gold hair unlike that which my sister has.” He said, trying to save himself.

“Lord Tyrion, what was the gift you were trying to give to my brother.” Stark asked him. Well the gift was really a saddle design, that would allow a cripple to ride on a horse.

“It was a saddle design Lord Stark. I’ve heard that you Starks’ have a great love for riding. Well we cannot have a Stark who cannot ride can we.” He japed, but Robb Stark didn’t look in the mood for fun. At a time like this Robb Stark reminded him a lot Eddard Stark.

“Why Lord Tyrion? I’m sure you know that I wanted to throw you in the dungeons, for your family’s crimes against my family’s.” Robb Stark asked, softly.

“Well, Lord Stark I’ve a great love for cripples, bastards and broken things.” He japed, trying to lessen the mood for everybody.

“Lord Tyrion, I know I should not be asking, but mayhaps, you can draw a saddle design for our direwolves. We’ve recently found out the great love of riding on the back of a direwolf.” Robb Stark asked. He could see the pleading look in his eyes.

“Sure, Lord Stark. I’ll be ready to give you the design’s by tomorrow.” He said, agreeing to draw the saddle design.

“Maester Luwin, make sure that Lord Tyrion is comfortably settled in the guest house. Make sure that there is servant to attend to his needs.” Stark spoke, ordering the Maester, seated beside him.

“Thank you, Lord Stark, but there is one more thing I would like to say before I make to the guest house. You see Lord Stark, while I was on the Wall, I met a bastard named Arthur Sand. that bastard is your cousin, you see. He is the son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne. It’ll be good if you write to him Lord Stark.” With those words, he left the hall walking on his stubby legs to the guest house.

**The  Fish-Wolf**

Two weeks, it had taken two weeks from Winterfell to White Harbor. She had set out a day after Bran’s funeral, where he had been placed beside Brandon and Lyanna, with the other dead Starks. She had set out with a heavy heart all the way to King’s landing about what had transpired. She even carried the dagger with her. Valyrian steel and hilt Dragonbone. Golden hair. A Lannister had done this and the Lannister’s would pay. They would all pay for killing her sweet child, for crippling him. They had been welcomed into White Harbor the Lord of White Harbor, Wyman Manderly, offering her, his condolences on the death of her son. Ser Rodrik and her had boarded the ship the day after, taking Lord Manderly’s hospitality for a night. They had boarded the ship _Storm Dancer_. The captain of the ship was nice and had offered them the best cabins for a reasonable price. The first few days on the ship didn’t agree with Ser Rodrik, him being a northman, away from the sea, who were not particularly fond of ships, not since Brandon the Burner had burned away the northern fleet, which had never been constructed till date. It was now time to construct the fleet. She had given Lord Manderly the orders on behalf of her son, which Robb had not issued at all. She just hoped that her eldest would understand, with them being on the brink of war with the Lannisters.

They reached King’s Landing after a month of journey on sea, Ser Rodrik got adjusted to it by the second week. Till the second the old knight was constantly sick. She stood out there, near the railing, seeing the sights of the city. The famous Dragonpit, the Sept of Baelor, and the Red Keep, all placed on hills named after the first King and Queens of Westeros. She could make out the small people walking on the ramparts wearing shiny armor, the City Watch. She wanted to run to the Red Keep as soon as she stepped from the ship but she knew that she couldn’t because the people may recognize her. People would ask why she had left Winterfell and made way to King’s Landing. She couldn’t very well tell them that the Lannisters had killed her son. Even if it were true she could not blame the Queen’s family without any hard evidence. A valyrian steel dagger and clumps of Lannister hair were not enough to prove that the Lannister’s had sent the cutthroat. She would have to talk to Ned about and Ned would investigate it himself about it. It pained her that she would have to break such bad news to her husband. Ned would be broken to hear that his Second son had been killed. She knew that he would rage, inside, drown himself in emotional turmoil, but she didn’t want him to do that. She wanted Ned to stay here in this viper’s pit and find out who had dared to harm an heir of one of the Greatest Houses of Westeros. A house which controlled territory as big as the other houses combined.

“We are going to reach King’s Landing my lady.” Ser Rodrik said, startling her for a minute.

“Yes we are Ser Rodrik. Yes we are.” She said, attesting to it.

“My good friend. It’s good to see that you are a bit better at the end of the journey.” The captain, Moreo Tumitis, spoke. Moreo Tumitis , was a Tyroshi, with a green forked beard. She had garnered that Moreo, had sailed the Narrow Sea for almost thirty years. She had picked Storm Dancer because it was the fastest ship available at the docks.

“Captain, I sincerely thank you for the making us reach King’s Landing as fast as possible. For this please have ten gold dragons for yourself and ten silver stags to each of your crew members.” She said offering the money to the captain.

“My lady, I cannot accept this. This is too much.” Moreo protested.

“I insist.” She said as she shoved the bag in the Tyroshi’s hands.

“Lower the gangway.” The captain boomed, as they docked themselves. The gangway lowered, and Ser Rodrik and she walked down to the firm ground. It felt good to have her feet back on ground. More than good, but she dreaded of how she would tell Ned about Bran. the thought had been on her head ever since the day she had walked away from Winterfell.

“It’s good to be back on my feet my lady.” Ser Rodrik spoke a smile on his face.

“Aye, Ser Rodrik it is. Now we need to find a inn where we can stay and then we will go to Lord Stark and inform him of the situation.” She said. Just then she saw two gold cloaks coming towards them with the periphery of her eyes. She saw the heavy woollen cloak, dyed goal, the black breastplate, with four disks on it. The men carried spears on their hands. Somehow she got the feeling that these men knew that she was Lady Stark. It was easy to recognize her from her bright red Tully hair.

“Lady Stark, we’ve been told by Lord Baelish to escort you to one of his brothels.” One of the gold cloaks said.

“How dare you speak to the Lady like this. A brothel, this is blasphemy.” Ser Rodrik thundered.

“Ser Rodrik, calm down. Littlefinger is a friend. I have every intention to believe that Lord Baelish means us no harm.” She said as she calmed Ser Rodrik. What was Littlefinger playing at? How did he know that I was coming here? Nobody was supposed to know that? The questions ran in her mind. The gold cloaks took her down the street, all the way from the docks to the bottom of Rhaenys’ Hill. Her legs were sore from walking so much. They entered the brothel to find many a girls scantily dressed offering themselves to men who had come for the Hand’s tourney. She saw many notable people there getting escorted by the girls they had chosen.

“My lady, such things are not meant for your eyes.” Ser Rodrik said, casting his eyes on the ground, his cheeks red.

“Cat.” She heard someone shout. She averted her eyes and looked there to see her childhood friend Petyr Baelish with his laughing gery-green cat like eyes. She moved to where Petyr was standing and Petyr hugged her. “Cat how many years has it been?” Petyr asked, his breath smelling of fresh mint. She dislodged herself from his arms.

“Seventeen years I think.” She answered.

“Come let us go somewhere private. The knight can join.” Petyr said, as he escorted her to one of the lodgings in the brothel. Once they entered the room she made herself comfortable on the sofa whereas Petyr sat on the table.

“So what brings Lady Catelyn Stark so away from Winterfell?” Petyr asked her. She started to speak but was interrupted by Ser Rodrik.

“My Lady is it prudent to tell this man the reason?” Ser Rodrik asked her.

“We can trust him Ser Rodrik. He is an old friend of mine.” She said to Ser Rodrik.

“So Cat what happened?” Petyr asked. She took out the dagger form her satchel.

“Someone sent a cutthroat to kill Bran. He was killed in the attack but my younger son’s direwolf killed the cutthroat.” She explained to him. The expression on his face was one of horror.

“You say that the cutthroat wielded this dagger?” Petyr asked.

“Yes. do you know anything about the dagger.” She asked.

“Oh! I know this dagger very well Cat.” Petyr exclaimed. He took the dagger from her hands and held the tip between his fingers. He quickly turned and threw the dagger at the other end of the room. The dagger sailed past, embedding itself in the wall. He turned towards her. “You see this dagger was mine, but I lost it on a bet to Tyrion Lannister.” He said, smirking. “I think that the Lannisters are responsible for this. I’m sorry Catelyn, but that is what I can garner.” He said.

“I need to tell this to Ned.” She muttered to herself. “Petyr help me and please bring Lord Stark here as soon as possible. I really need to speak to him.” She said, pleading to Littlefinger.

“I will bring him here tomorrow. You and the dear knight can stay here for tonight.” Petyr said.

“Thank you Petyr.” She said. Littlefinger left the room, probably to do some of his duties. She eased herself on the bed, trying to process all the knowledge she had gained today.

**The Lady Direwolf**

“Jory. Jory.” She shouted with all her might, as she ran from her room. “Jory, where are you?” She kept shouting. She finally saw Jory at some distance. She slowed down, but kept walking, fast. “Jory, you oaf. We need to go to the Sept of Baelor.” She told him.

“Pray, remind me my lady but why do we need to go to a sept?” He grumbled.

“We need to go to this sept because it is the greatest sept of Westeros. Even the Starry Sept is nothing in comparison to this.” She said, trying to sound sweet.

“Yes my lady.” He said accepting his defeat. He turned and went towards the steps. She pumped her fist into the air. All of this was so much like Arya and so less like her previous self, the little lady, but she enjoyed this. She had been visiting various places in Kings Landing, the Dragonpit, the tourney grounds, the Blackwater rush, and all of it, but she had still not seen the Great Sept of Baelor. She followed Jory out of the tower of the hand, to the stables where the horses were kept. She mounted on her own horse, _Snow_ , while Jory mounted his and they took off for the Great Sept of Baelor.

On reaching the Great Sept of Baelor, she saw the statue of King Baelor I Targaryen, a septon as well as a king. The statue of Baelor Targaryen, showed that the man was very thin and frail looking. The King wore a crown made of flowers and vines. She walked past the statue but Jory stood there.

“Come Jory. Why are you standing there.” She asked him.

“It’s not my place in a sept my lady. I am wholly of the North my lady and I prefer the company of the trees that the company of statues.” Jory answered.

“Fine.” She relented. She walked past the doors of the Sept and ended up in the Hall of Lamps. True to its name, she walked beneath suspended globes of colored, leaded glass, which looked like lamps. She then saw the double doors which led the people inside the Sept. through the double doors was a proper Sept, with seven broad isles which underneath a dome of glass, gold and crystal. The floors were made of marble, and the great windows of leaded, colored glass, and seven altars depicting the seven pillars of the faith. Father, Warrior, Smith, Mother, Maiden, Crow, Stranger. Beneath the altars were candles lit. She saw the several doors the led the people out of the sept. The septon’s used the Father’s doors and the septa’s used the Mother’s doors. The Silent Sisters however used the Stranger’s doors, and covered their face and head in grey only showcasing their eyes. The task of the Silent Sisters was to attend the dead.   

She knelt at the altar of the Father. The Father was represented as a bearded man who carried scales. She prayed to the Father, asking him to help Robb, to seek justice and to recognize it. She then knelt at the altar of the Mother, who always seemed to smile, and asked her to Bran safe. At last she knelt at the altar of the Warrior, who was always depicted with a sword, and asked her to give Robb courage to face his enemies, on the battlefield and outside the battlefield.

She then left the Sept and met Jory back near the statue of the Baelor.

“So my lady are we done or there is something else that we have to do?” Jory asked. She remembered seeing Arya in her dance lessons aptly called that way, because they were sword lessons. She had also seen a slender blade on Arya’s trunk while she was in Arya’s room. When Arya had found out she had shouted at her, telling her to never tell anyone or she would kill her with needle. When she had asked Arya who had given it to her, Arya had broken down crying and only whispered the name Jon. The gift was from Jon, the only gift he had given to anyone before running away from Winterfell. While a sword was good, a dagger could also help if the sword fail. She had heard from somewhere that the best armorer of King’s Landing was Tobho Mott, who owned a shop very close to the Great Sept of Baelor.

“No,” she said, after a lot of thought. “We will go to Tobho Mott’s. It is very near.”

“Who is Tobho Mott?” Jory asked.

“He is an armorer. And before you ask any more questions, I want to buy a dagger for Arya and myself. It will help when none of you are around.” She said and offered an explanation at the same time. Jory had a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I always thought the Arya was the one to have wolf’s blood in her veins. It seems all the Stark children except Jon have wolf’s blood. Though only Arya and little Rickon have a full force of it, the rest of you clearly have a touch of it as well.” Jory muttered, under his breath. She laughed at the statement.

“I may have a touch of wolf’s blood, Jory, but I think I am still a lady. One who wields a dagger.” She said to Jory. Jory offered a small smile at that.

“Well my lady then it is best that we move on to this Tobho Mott’s shop.” Jory said, now grinning openly. The journey to the shop was a short one, on horseback. Soon we came in front of a building bigger than those present on the Street of Steel. Behind his house his shop was laid in a cavernous barn. There were several men and some boys working in the shop. Her eyes drew herself to the man towering over them. The man was wearing a cloak with silver hammers embroidered on its sleeves. The man also wore heavy silver chain, from which hung a large sapphire.

“Alright lads, I’ll be gone for today. You all will see to the customers. Many people will come with the Hand’s Tourney so close. Don’t disappoint anyone, or you will be disappointed. Gendry you are incharge.” The man spoke, harshly and firmly. Tobho Mott descended down the steps and his eyes shined in recognition on seeing the Hand’s daughter.

“Lady Stark. How may Tobho Mott be of assistance to you?” Tobho Mott asked.

“Master Mott, I require two daggers, finely made of course. Should be well suited for a woman’s hand. I’ve heard that your shop is the best so I decided to come to you.” She said, politely.

“Lady Stark, I am in a bit of a hurry today, but Gendry will look after your needs.” Tobho Mott said to her.

“Gendry, do look after the Lady Stark’s needs.” Mott shouted and then he exited the armory. Soon a young man came out. The man was shy of six feet by an inch. His black hair, was long and a bit untamed, falling on his face like silken strands of cloth. The man pushed his hair back and she saw his eyes, his eyes as blue as the storm, in fact they looked like the eye of the storm. The boy had high cheekbones and square jaw. Even belonging to the lower end of the society he looked as if he belonged to the upper echelons. The man was similar of age to Robb, fifteen years old and very muscled. She felt her face heating up by looking at this boy.

“M’lady. How can I help you?” The boy asked. So this was Gendry, after all Mott had told her that he would look after he cares.

“I want two daggers which can be easily concealed. They should be fit for a woman’s hand.” She replied, concisely.

“Any specifications on the hilt m’lady?” Gendry asked.

“No, I want the hilts to be plain.” She replied. Gendry nodded.

“It will be done in three to four days m’lady.” She nodded at it, agreeing with the timings.

“So Gendry, are you participating at the Hand’s Tourney?” She asked him. His face held a look of shock.

“No, no. I cannot. If I participate who will, craft and how will I get my payment?” He questioned her.

“I heard the melee champion will receive ten thousand gold dragons. I’m sure that will cover your payment for one or two years.” She answered. “ Surely with that muscle and the way you spent your time with hammers can win you that prize.” She said. “Surely you can craft a warhammer and enter the melee. It is open to all, highborn or lowborn. The Hand’s Tourney is in two and a half weeks.” She said thinking ahead of time.

“I…..I will think about it.” Gendry said, stammering, his hands running at the back of his head showcasing he was confused.

“Well, you can craft you Warhammer when you want, but don’t forget about my daggers.” She reminded him. “And if you need assistance in joining the melee, then call for me. Call for Sansa Stark, daughter of the Hand of the King.” She added, stating herself if he had any difficulties finding her.

“Yes m’lady.” He said, his face red like a tomato. She giggled at it, very un-lady like and walked back to where their horses were. She mounted the horse and looked back at Jory, who had a look of shock on his face.

“Jory, what happened?” She asked him, wanting to know what had shocked him.

“He isn’t just any armorer’s apprentice Sansa.” Jory said. This was one of those rare time he had called her by her name and not some courtesy. Jory’s face was pale. “He is a bastard.” Jory said.

“Jory it is not good to speak about someone like that. He helped us.” She said, angry at jory for making such a rude comment.

“He is the Robert Baratheon’s bastard son. Robert Baratheon’s eldest son.” Jory muttered, softly so that only she could hear it. Her face drained itself of color. Robert Baratheon’s bastard. The eldest son of a King. The bastard son of a King. She could very well see the similarities between them now. The same hair color and the same blue eyes. The jaw and cheekbones all so same. Yet they were so different. Father and Son were nothing alike.

“We should tell him.” She choked out the words.

“No we should not. If the queen hears of it she will kill the boy.” Jory said.

“I told him to join the melee at the Hand’s Tourney. Surely the queen will see him then.” She argued.

“Robert will also see him. As long as he will live nobody will harm your armorer.” Jory said, teasing her somehow. She felt herself heat up again.

“He is not my armorer, Jory.” She muttered as she hit him playfully on the shoulder.

“No, my lady. He is not.” Jory said, sprouting a full blown smile on his face. They then trotted back to the Hand’s tower, her mind solely focused on the black haired, blue eyed boy she had left back at the shop.

**The Quiet Wolf**

He was involved in one of the boring small council meetings, once again pertaining the Hand’s Tourney. How many times had he told the people that it was the Kings Tourney and the Hand had no part in it. He had been meaning to ask Grand Maester Pycelle about Jon Arryn but he could not find the time. So, today it had been his utmost motive to stop the Grand Maester and talk to him about Jon Arryn right after he dismissed the council meeting. He dismissed the Lords of the small council after the boring council was over. The Lords stood up and left until the old Grand Maester was left.

“The heat?” the maester murmured, but he heard him. “On days like this, I envy you northerners and your summer snows.” The maester spoke a bit loudly, glancing at him.

“I’ve meaning to talk to you about Jon Arryn?” He asked to the maester, before he could leave. There was a somber look on his face.

“Lord Arryn. His death was a great sadness to all of us. I took personal charge of his care but I could not save him.” He had an explanatory expression on his face. “His sickness struck him hard and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just night before his passed. Lord Jon often came to me for council.” There was a smile on his face, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“Why?” If would’ve needed council he would’ve gone to someone else not a maester. There was a surprising look of anger on the face of the Grand Maester.

“I’ve been Grand Maester for many years. Kings and hands have come to me for advice since-” Pycelle started to state but he cut him off.

“What did Jon want? The night before he died.” He asked him again.

“He came enquiring about a book.” Pycelle said.

“A book.” he couldn’t believe that Jon wanted a book. Jon was too much a fighter in his youth to ask for a book. He wanted to know more about the book. “What book?” He asked Pycelle.

“I fear it would be little use to you my lord. A ponderous tome.” Pycelle said with conviction. Jon wanted it, it must’ve have held some value.

“No, I’d like to read it.” he said to the maester.

“Well my lord, then it is best if we go to my solar. It is kept over there.” Pycelle said. He followed the Grand Maester to his solar. The place was filled with tomes and ancient knowledge. He could also see the various kind of poisons that littered the dusty shelves. The Grand Maester went behind the chair of his solar and brought out a very large tome. What shocked him was the name of the book.

“The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children, by Maester Malleon.” Pycelle said, grunting and heaving as he put the book on the table. The Maester sat on the chair opposite to him. He went ahead and opened the book and came straight face to face with the red three headed dragon on a black field of House Targaryen.

“Maegor Targaryen, First of Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Born to King Aegon Targaryen, First of his Name, and Queen Visenya Targaryen. Silver of hair and Lilac of eye. Born in Dragonstone, died in Kings Landing atop the Iron Throne. Married Ceryse Hightower, Alys Harroway, Tyanna of the Tower, Elinor Costayne, Jeyne Westerling, and Rhaena Targaryen.” he read reading the description of the Maegor the Cruel. He then turned the pages and saw the grey direwolf on a ice white field of House Stark. _His House._ He turned a few more pages until he came to the page dedicated to his father, Lord Rickard Stark.

“Lord Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Lord Paramount of the Northlands. Born to Lord Edwyle Stark and Lady Marna Locke. Brown of hair and Grey of eye. Born in Winterfell, died in Kings Landing, executed by Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name for Treason. Married Lady Lyarra Stark. Had four children. Brandon Stark,executed by the Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name,  Eddard Stark, now Lord of Winterfell, Lyanna Stark, abducted and raped by Rhaegar Targaryen, Benjen Stark, First ranger of Castle Black.” He tried to control his emotions and point out the various flaws in the writing of the book. _Burned and Strangled instead of executed. Lyanna Stark, married to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, died of childbed fever, birthing Jaehaerys Targaryen._

 _Promise me Ned! Promise me Ned!_ The words kept ringing in his head. He let out few tears from his eyes trying to control his emotion as best as he could. Building the Wall on his emotions higher than Brandon the Builder made on the edge of Westeros.

“I’m sorry my Lord, no man should read such thing about his sire and siblings.” Pycelle’s voice came, oddly it was a bit comforting. “Would you still like to take the tome my lord?” Pycelle asked.

“Yes.” he answered. “So Grand Maester. Did Jon arryn tell you what he wanted with it?” He asked Maester, his voice a bit miffed.

“He did not my lord, and I did not presume to ask.” Pycelle stated.

Jon’s death-” he began but was cut off from the Maester.

“Such a tragedy.” Pycelle said, head nodding.

“Did he say anything to you during his final hours?” He prodded.

“Nothing of importance my lord.” Pycelle said, but a quick look of remembering something came to his face. “There was one phrase he kept repeating. ‘The Seed is Strong.’ I think it was.”

“The Seed is Strong. What does that mean?” He asked.

“A dying mind, a demented mind Lord Stark. For all the weight they are given last words are as important as the first words.” Pycelle said. _Yes they are important. It must mean something._ Thought there was something else too. Pycelle had said that Jon Arryn was healthy the night before. Jon was struck with a silent illness. He couldn’t believe it.

“Are you quite sure Lord Arryn, died naturally?” He asked Pycelle.

“What else could it be?” Pycelle asked.

“Poison.” he answered, after a thought.

“Hmm… Disturbing thought. I don’t think it likely. Lord Arryn was loved by all. What sort of man would dare-” Pycelle said, but he cut him off.

“It is said that poison is a woman’s weapon.” He said to the Maester.

“Yes. women , cravens and eunuchs.” Pycelle voice became dangerously doubting at the end of it. “Did you know that Lord Varys is a eunuch Lord Stark?” Pycelle asked. _Was this man trying to put blame on Varys just because he was a eunuch._

“Yes. everybody knows that.” He said. Pycelle just kept nodding at it, his face contorting from his doubtful one to his normal one.

“Yes. Yes of course. How that sort of person found himself on the King’s Council, is beyond my comprehension.” Pycelle said.

Till the time Pycelle ended demeaning the person he had closed the book and wedged it between his hip bone and hand. “Thank you for your time.” He said to him.

“No trouble my Lord.” Pycelle said, struggling to stand up.

“Thank you. I’ll find my own way out.” He said leaving Pycelle to his orchestrations.

On the way to his room he encountered Petyr Baelish. The man threw him a sly smirk as he walked towards him.

“Lord Stark.” He shouted.

“Lord Baelish.” He greeted him the same. “What bring you here?” He asked almost immediately afterwards.

“Well Lord Stark, you see, I’ve seen your wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, here in Kings Landing.” Baelish said. Catelyn in King’s Landing the idea was abhorrent.

“Lord Baelish, it seems that your eyes have weakened a bit. My Lady is in Winterfell, caring for my son Brandon Stark.” He said to Baelish.

“Well my lord, believe what you must believe. I’m only telling the truth.” The was Baelish spoke made him want to believe it. “I’ll take my leave Lord Stark. I have other pressing matters to look after.” Baelish said as he walked to whatever he was going to do. He too started walking to his chambers.

“Lord Stark, if you believe by tomorrow that your wife is in Kings Landing then I’ll be happy to guide you where she is.” Baelish shouted.

“Well, Lord Baelish why don’t you trust me with this information.” He shouted at him.

“It’s very easy to understand Lord Stark. You just can’t trust everyone in Kings Landing. Little birds here and there. Even the walls have ears Lord Stark. Best to know that in a pit of vipers.” Baelish said to him. Catelyn in Kings Landing. He scoffed at it but a small teensy part of his mind told him that what Baelish had told him was true. He turned to see Baelish gone.

“Well I’ll just have to ask the man tomorrow.” He said to no one but the air and the walls.

 _Even the walls have ears Lord Stark. Best to know that in a pit of vipers._ Baelish's voice rang in his head in a mocking tone.

**The Wild Direwolf**

Arya Stark, had been called a wild girl, ever since her birth. Not wanting to stay in one place, not wanting to learn the womanly arts of sewing, singing, dancing and all other rubbish that Septa Mordane had taught the women in Winterfell. She was different from her brother’s and sister. Where they had the Tully features she had the Stark ones. Brown hair, that was mussed up most of the time, and grey eyes the color of the walls of Winterfell. The only person who had matched her in looks was he brother Jon Snow, who had left Winterfell after the day their father called him to talk with him. She was distraught over what had happened and her father himself had send ravens to all the Lords of the North asking about Jon describing himself as a sullen boy, with brown almost black hair, and grey eyes so dark that they seemed black.

Most of her life she had been called plain and had been teased by her sister and her best friend Jeyne Poole, daughter of Vayon Poole, the steward of Winterfell by the name ‘Arya Horseface’. Though sometimes she had been called as beautiful as her illustrious aunt Lyanna. Though she had not known about her aunt much she remembered that Robert Baratheon had killed Rhaegar Targaryen because he had abducted his betrothed. She had wanted to hold a sword instead of a needle. She had wanted to dance with swords instead of boys, but she had play to dutiful child of the Lord Paramount of the Northlands. She had even been given a sword by Mikken. He had told her that this sword had been commissioned by Jon and he had paid the full price for it. The sword was small and head been shaped in the style of one of those braavosi swords. She had playfully named it ‘Needle’ because it was just like it. Small, sharp at the point so she could stick it into anyone.

During the past few weeks, she had been most surprised. The first time was when father had given Robb Ice. seeing Robb use the sword gave her an inexperienced thrill. The second was when Sansa had defended her during the farce of a trial that had. She had expected her to at least support her poor prince, but she had outright condemned him to Robert Baratheon’s punch. The sickening crunch of his nose that had come after the punch had deeply satisfied her. Sansa had also brought about some inner changes to herself. She could a bit of herself in her sister now. Sansa had thundered on Jeyne Poole, when she had called her ‘Arya Horseface’. She was most pleased with it.

On one of the days Sansa had come barging into her room when she was looking at her sword. When Sansa had seen it she had a look of shock on her face. Sansa had not complained but just asked her who had given it to her. She had told him that it was Jon, who had made Mikken make it for her and Mikken had given it to her. She had also shouted at Sansa that she would not have understood it because she didn’t like Jon as a brother always telling her that he was their half-brother. Sansa then had thundered at her that she had been told like that, groomed like that, and that the Seven told like that. She had just told her that the Seven could stick it up their arses. Sansa had chided her for using such foul words. All of that commotion had garnered the attention of their Father who had also asked her who had given her the sword. When she had refused to tell him, Sansa like an obedient little girl had told him it was Jon. The good thing that came out of it was that her father had made her take ‘dancing lessons’, which were sword lessons in disguise. Sansa had even found about that, but she had not complained about it.

The dancing were given to her by Syrio Forel, the first sword of Braavos. He had taught her a lot about water dancing. Apparently, the swords used in Braavos were the same as Needle. Syrio had told her that a water dancer needed to swift, so instead of attending the court or roaming the expanse that the Red Keep covered she used to catch the cats who used to evade her most of the time. Once she had caught all the cats except one. It was a tomcat, old and clearly a male, who was mean and one-eared. She had caught him finally one day but she had run across half the keep. When she finally caught him she had kissed him while he tried to scratch at her face. Prince Tommen had made the gold cloaks escort outside but she had evaded them. After all she couldn’t tell them that she was the Daughter of Lord Eddard Stark.

She was currently standing on one toe over the steps of her father’s chambers but was failing miserably and stood on her foot fingers. She could hear the soft beats of the footsteps made by someone. Well the someone was her father and he was carrying a heavy tome in his hands. She could feel the questioning gaze of her father on her.

“Syrio says a Water Dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” She answered to the unasked question.

“It’s a hard fall down those steps.” Father said, expressing concern in his voice.

“Syrio says, every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better.” She could feel a smile stretch across her face. The put down her other foot on the cool marble again. Unlike Winterfell, where the atmosphere was cold and the walls and floors were warm the Red Keep was its complete different. She could feel the sweat rolling down her back in the tunic she had stolen from Robb before they had come here. “Tomorrow I’m going to be chasing cats again.” She told her father.

“Cats?” Her father questioned. Immediately a look of understanding came on his face. “Syrio says.” he asked her. She could not help but grin at it.

“Syrio says that every swordsman should study cats. They are as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them.” She explained to him why. She didn’t even notice that she had climbed down two steps. Her father went to open the door to his room.

“When Bran is awake will he come live with us.” She asked her father. She could see the pained look on his face.

“Well he needs to get his strength back first.” Her father explained.

“He wants to be knight of the Kingsguard.” She told him. “He can’t be now can he?” She asked him, rhetorically. He thought that she didn’t know things like this. Well her father was wrong. She did know what had happened to Bran.

“No.” He told her. He walked up the steps to her. “But someday he might become a lord of a holdfast,” He explained. By the end if it he was seated her her. He continued, “or sit on the Kings council, or he might raise castles, like Brandon the Builder, his namesake.” He told her listing off the possibilities.

“Can I be Lord of a holdfast.” She asked him innocently. He just laughed at her.

“You will marry a high lord and rule his castle. And your sons shall be knights, and princes and lords.” He told her, touching her cheek affectionately. She couldn’t think of herself in that position.

“No.” she answered to him. “That’s not me.” with that she walked herself up and started trying to balance herself on one toe. Her father left her alone going to his room.

She stood there for half and hour trying her best to complete the task that she had been set up for. She then left it her feet hurting a lot. She made her way to her room. On her way she was accosted by the smell of lilacs, lavender and rosewater. She saw a bald man wearing, plum colored silks and velvets. How could a man become more of a girl wearing such itching scents were above the scape of her mind. The words spoken by him dealt the heavy blow to her mind.

“Lady Stark in Kings Landing. Well what has happened in the North. It seems that some little birds are going to come forward.” The man’s voice was very sweet. He giggled after it and the went away not noticing her presence. Mother in Kings Landing, the idea seemed far-fetched. She hadn’t left bran’s bedside to greet them a safe journey why would she come now. She was still trying to figure out who the man was when a voice rang in her head.

_“You see the man with the forked beard, short man. That is Petyr Baelish. The man who looks like the King but is shorter than him. He is Renly Baratheon. Robert’s youngest brother. Now you see the bald man over there. One wearing rich colors of plum and violet. That is Varys, the King’s spymaster. People compare him to Brynden Bloodraven, who is said to have had a thousand eyes and one. He is said to know everything that goes on in Westeros and Essos.” Her father said to her pointing her each of the men._

That was Varys, the Spymaster. He thinks that mother is in Kings Landing then it must be true. She rant to the closest room there was which belonged to Sansa. She barged into her room, wanting to tell her. She saw Sansa beside her bed the drapes closed. Sansa was stark naked. She could see Sansa’s thick auburn hair reaching to her round butt. She could also see her flat stomach and her very prominent breasts, her nipples the color of flamingos they had seen in the Riverlands. Her cheeks flushed at the sight of her sister. She turned her head her face burning.

“Sansa.” She managed to squeak somehow.

“Arya.” her sister shouted. “It’s rude to peek on a woman naked.

“I don’t care what you want to say right now. All I came to tell you was that I heard the Spymaster, Varys, saying that mother was in Kings Landing.” She shouted at her back.

“What?” A high pitched voice said. She turned her head to see that Sansa had covered herself with the blanket. She could see the questioning gaze of her sister. She just nodded at it.

**The Dragonwolf Prince**

They had been aboard the 260 galley ship for almost three weeks. Dany had lost her grandmother’s ring during the stay on the ship and they had questioned each and every person aboard the ship. Ost of the men were from Tyrosh and Norvos with some thrown in from Lys and Volantis. The Lynesi looked like them but they couldn’t quite get the feature of his eyes straight. It seemed to him that the color of his eyes were the only shade present in the known world. That was what Dany had said. Ever since the night of the nightmare, Dany had gotten accustomed to sleeping on his bed. He too didn’t complain, ‘cause he quite liked it. The feel of her her body against his sent heat crawling in his body all in different places.

Today too they were in his room, well for every one day spent in her room Dany spent five in his. His father was also not troubled by this. The only person who was was Viserys. He had continued to screech that how he was supposed to marry Daenerys. When Dany had told him that he was going to sell her to a dothraki horse-lord he rubbed that in his face. It was certainly very interesting to see his reaction to it.  

They were seated on his bed and he was trying his level best to braid her hair. They had played, calling out their titles to each other. He began today.

“Queen Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the realm.” He spoke aloud. She giggled at it.

“Looks, you added the Stormborn part this time.” Dany said. He just grinned at it. She quickly moved away from her position an sat facing him, her violet eyes alight with mischief. She tapped her chin, quite a number of times. “Well I’ve just got the right thing for you. King Jaehaerys Dragonwolf, of Houses Targaryen and Stark, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.” He shot her an amused grin.

“Dragonwolf?” He questioned her.

“Well, you chose to use how I was born, amidst a storm, so, I chose from whom you were born. Plus you have a direwolf, all to yourself.” She answered. She put her fingers in her hair and tugged at the untangling them.

“I spent so much time making those braids.” He said, in mock horror. She playfully hit my shoulder.

“You don’t know the first thing about making braids, Jae.” She said to me. I put on a sorrowful face. “Oh! Stop doing that and come and sleep.” She motioned for him to take the other side as she laid on one side her long hair, covering a bit of her face. He took a curl from her face and tucked it behind her ear. He gave her a warm smile as he saw her cheeks heat up a bit. He just chuckled at her antics. He pushed back her hair and kissed her forehead.

“Sleep. I’ll be back in some time. I have to talk to father.” He told her. She just gave a contended moan.

“Come fast.” She told me, as he left the cabin. He walked through the deck. The wood was polished. He looked up at the sky. At a distance he could see the sky turn into a blood red color. It called him forward. _Valyria,_ popped into his head. The skies above Valyria were blood red in color after the doom had come to them. He released his breath, which he didn’t notice that he was holding. He had always wanted to visit Valyria, even as Jon Snow. Now that he knew his heritage he certainly wanted to see the homeland of his ancestors. Lightning flashed overhead, and he ducked at the sound of it. A storm was brewing in distance. It could come today or tomorrow but he desperately wished that it would come after a week. He walked up to his father’s room. Unlike the room in Illyrio’s manse, his father had a simple room on the ship. A brazier, a double bed, like the rest of them had, a table, his father was sitting, his head bent, looking over some paper’s. His harp was in one corner of the room, the silver gleaming through the light of the brazier. He had returned the harp to him, and his father had gifter him another in return. His harp was very similar to his father, only the rubies and sapphires were exchanged from the mouths. The dragons’ mouths contained blue sapphires, complementing his father’s melancholic nature and the wolf had a red ruby, expressing his mother’s wolf’s blood.

“The captain reports that there is storm coming up ahead.” His father said. Well, he was certainly more attentive than he was. He grinned sheepishly, inside, his face outside bearing a calm expression.

“I saw it. The lightning flashing. I also saw the blood red colored skies of Valyria in a distance. We are very close to our homeland.” He told his father. His father looked up at him and ran his hand over his hair, finger-combing it, much like he did.

“Come sit.” He motioned him towards the bed. “I know why you have come here, Jae.” His father said. He looked at him with puppy dog eyes, pleading him to tell it. “You know, I hate it when you use those eyes. How Dany manages to overcome that I’d never know.” His father chuckled at it. When he had first seen them in his bed together, he had done nothing. After some days he had seen it become a habit, he had called him alone to his room and gave him the ‘talk’. Just thinking about it made him turn beet red.

“At first, My father was a very promising king. He didn’t hold the targaryen madness and had great schemes for westeros. But as those schemes came in his mind, they left him as soon as possible. You see my grandfather, your namesake, King Jaehaerys II Targaryen, made a quote. It was only for House Targaryen. ‘Madness and Greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new targaryen is born, the gods toss a coin and the whole world holds its breath to see how it will land.’. Ser Barristan Selmy had told me this. At first all the lords thought that the gods had dropped the coin for Aerys Targaryen. Neither did he seem mad, nor did he seem great.”

“You mean to say that the Mad King, was a nice person.” He interjected. The idea seemed very far-fetched.

“Yes, if the Defiance of Duskendale had not happened, then it would seem that my father could have been called a loving grandfather. Anyways, continuing with the story. He removed all the people, that his father and grandfather had set up and had installed new and young faces. One could also say that my father became mad because of the many miscarriages that my mother had. He had befriended the young Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon, his cousin. When Tywin Lannister had crushed the Reyne-Tarbeck alliance, he caught the attention of my father. So, Aerys named him Hand of the King. another blow to my father was when people whispered behind his back that Tywin ruled the realm, not Aerys. My father also lusted after, Joanna Lannister, wife of Tywin Lannister. When he had truly become paranoid, he didn’t cut his hair, his nails, and looked more like a beggar than a king. The only that defined him as a king was because he wore the crown of Aegon the Unworthy. People used to say that the crown suited him.”

“Well you have given me enough to think today, father. I think I will come tomorrow.” He really had a lot to think about since his father had bombarded such news to him. It was heavy even for him. He went up to the deck. The ship was lurching right and left and light rain could be felt. He ran across the deck to his room. He was a bit wet by the time he reached there. Daenerys was asleep, her left cheek on her pillow and her lips parted. Oh! How he wanted to kiss those lips and feel their softness on his lips, but he constrained himself. He opened up his tunic and slept beside her in his shirt and breeches. He turned his head so that his back was facing her. He could see Blackfyre and Dark Sister propped beside each other and the dragon eggs kept in the brazier. Dany had insisted that they keep the eggs in the brazier because they both felt the heat radiating off them when they touched it. It was comforting, very much so and they would sit on his bed, Dany holding either the black or the cream egg, while he always held the green one.

“You finally came. Face me Jae.” A sleepy, voice mumbled beside him. He turned his head to see her half lidded eyes, heavy with sleep.

“Sleep.” He said, and she fell into a slumber. He too fell into sleep, a dream overcoming his senses. He just prayed to the old gods and the valyrian gods, who didn’t know a thing about, to let this not be a nightmare.

_He was walking through the storage rooms below, and could feel the ship lurching, and the thunderous pitter-patter of the rain. The storage room was filled with many items that he couldn’t figure out. At a distance he could see the barrels of fish that had been kept here. His human had told him not to plunder these things so he left them alone. He kept walking until he came upon a pole. The pole was too low for him to crouch and cross and there was stuff piled above it so he could not very well jump. So he just sat on his back legs. Soon enough he heard to different sets of footsteps coming his way. He put out his head but he could not see the face of the men. He could only hear the voices, and see their hands._

_“Do it today.” A voice spoke. He could hear the sneer in the man’s voice._

_“Today is too early.” Another spoke. His voice was gruff compared to the first one._

_“Today is a fine day. There is Storm above deck, people will think of it just as a commotion.” the first man whispered angrily._

_“Fine, but I want my payment.” The gruff voice spoke. He took out his hand and made a gesture. The first man handed the second one a ring. The ring was made of made up of red-gold and a onyx was fitted a top it. He seen the ring worn by his humans mate. This was the lost ring. The hand of the second man disappeared upward and then it came back down, the ring getting pocketed._

_“I’ll take care of my brother, Rhaegar, you take care of his bastard and my sister. And remember, i want my sister alive, along with the dragon eggs and the swords that they bore. You can do what you want to do with the bastard.” The first man spoke, contempt clear in his voice. He heard the receding of footsteps. He ran as fast as he could._

He woke up sweating, and his eyes bore into the ruby red eyes of his direwolf, Ghost. A wolf dream. That was a fucking wolf dream. Ghost got off the bed as he shook Dany awake.

“What happened, Jae?” Dany mumbled.

“A mutiny. Wake up Dany. there is mutiny going to happen and our lives are in danger. Father’s too. Wolf dream.” He explained everything to her. He knew it was Viserys, the second he said my brother, Rhaegar. Viserys had always wanted to crown to himself, grandmother had unknowingly crowned him. Now Rhaegar was alive, so was he. Thus, Viserys became third in line for the throne. All his life Viserys called himself a King only to become nothing more than the Prince of ruins, which Summerhall had become, as the Targaryens gave Dragonstone to the first and Summerhall to the second after the king. Dany visage turned into one of horror. We both got up from our bed. He wore his tunic and picked up Blackfyre. He tossed Dark Sister to Dany and she grabbed it.

“Stay here in the room. I’ll go check up on father.” He said to her. She just nodded. “Keep Ghost with you.” He added as an afterthought. He ran from the room. The rain was pouring like cats and dogs and their was a full blown war going on on the deck. He unsheathed Blackfyre and the first man who came at him met his demise, with Blackfyre cutting him up from shoulder to hip bone. The man’s intestines came out as the man’s blood splattered up his tunic. He ran forward cutting down as many men as possible. Many of them were equipped with oars. It seemed as if the oars men had also joined the war.

Them came a man with a heavy warhammer. The man lifted the hammer up and struck down but he was fast enough to avoid it. The edges of the hammer were like steel spokes while the other side was flat. It looked a lot like Baratheon’s warhammer. He got enraged at it and struck at the man quickly, Blackfyre passing through the chain-mail and hitting at the mark where the heart belonged. Blackfyre literally dripped blood as if it were the fangs of a blood-sucking monster. He wrenched out his sword and advanced.

By the time he reached his father’s room he was covered in blood, neck to toe, his face cleaned by the rain. Even his hair was matted. In front of his father’s room he saw a man lying. The man’s back had a huge sword gap, his silver hair, covering his face. Above him was another man with the same silver hair, kicking the man.

“You are no King, now are you brother. I am. When you bastard is dead I’ll become the King of Westeros. You had your chance but you failed. Now I’ll be great.” The man seemed to be in joy. He looked at the man’s face closely. _Viserys._ That meant the man was his father. He launched himself at Viserys, tears running down his face. He grabbed Viserys’s neck trying to choke him.

“Guard.” Viserys somehow choked out. At that very moment someone kicked him on his side, hard. He was thrown across the hallway his back crashing into a wall. He looked at the man. The man seven feet tall and packed with muscle. He carried a greatsword, that could cleave him in two. The man struck atb him but he rolled away. His found the hilt of Blackfyre as he met the man’s next blow with Blackfyre’s blade. He could not hold the man with one arm so grabbed the nearest piece of shrapnel and stuck it at the man’s foot. The man just roared as he stumbled back. He got back on his feet and decapitated the man, the man’s head rolling away, as he looked at the man’s eyes. He ran towards his father and held him close. He could see the Kings ring, Valyrian steel with a red ruby that Daeron the second had made that his ancestors could wear instead of Blackfyre that had been granted to his half-brother Daemon Blackfyre. He took it wore it on his middle finger of the right hand. He took the nearest torch and set his father’s body aflame as the Targaryens were cremated when they died. But his father would not be cremated. His ashed would go to the seas below him. Seas that he spent half his life running across. He rushed to his room towards Dany. If Daenerys died he would not be able to live.

He again ran across the deck, half in hopes to find Viserys or the man who had his grandmother’s ring. He couldn’t find either. He ended up in his room back. Dany was standing there her nightgown splattered with blood. There were the bodies of three men on the ground and Dark Sister hovered proudly before his eyes. Suddenly, he could feel the warmth of another person on him. _Dany,_ he realized. He hugged her back.

“Viserys, he killed father.” He managed to croak out. A steady stream of tears came out of his eyes and he found that his shoulder was also wet probably from Dany’s crying. He held her by her shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.

“Leave.” They were the only words he said.

“But Jae, there-” Dany tried to argue.

“No buts Dany. Leave, I’ll join you I promise. There are boats at the side. Take the dragon eggs, take your dagger, take your belongings and hop onto the boat and leave. Take Ghost with you. I can’t bear to lose him too. Keep his safe and he’ll do the same.” He explained to her. “You’re Daenerys Stormborn. You were born during one of the worst storms recorded. This is nothing but a fluke for you.” he told her.

She nodded, shakily. He couldn’t help but lean his head in for a kiss, and had a small part of his brain kept saying the he would be rejected. But then,  he felt soft lips merging with his own. He tasted the salt of their tears and the sweetness of her mouth. He was heaven for the next minute. He pulled back and saw he rheumy eyes. He rubbed her eyes free form the tears.

“Take care my Dragonwolf.” She said.

“I promise, as soon as I find and kill Viserys, and find your ring, I’ll join you in the sea. But for now you must go. I’ll find you in the sea itself.” He told her. And after pressing his lips one last time to hers he left the cabin in search of Viserys. The fight on the deck had reduced to a bare minimum level. There were bodies littering the deck, some had heads smashed, some had their entrails strew over. It was horrible sight to see. In the middle of it all he could see a lone, with silver hair, trying to fight the man who had the Dany’s ring. He kept walking forward, kicking the bodies out of his way. He came near Viserys and impaled him through the back straight into the chest. He leaned in close to Viserys’ ear.

“For my father, you mad fool.” He snarled. He could only hear the gurgling of blood coming from Viserys mouth. He took out the sword and in an instant was hit on his head with the mommel of the sword that the man was holding.

He held his head in his palms, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He could feel the blood on his palms. He swung wildly at the man, but the man dodged it. He could not hear anything. He swung again but missed. By the third time the man had gotten cocky, he could smell it. He swung again putting all his might in this swing and hit true, slashing at his chest. The man was momentarily shocked and he used it at his advantage. He shoved Blackfyre straight through the unguarded throat. The man fell down like a sack of potatoes. He sat on his knees and fumbled at the man’s pockets, and he found the ring. He wore the ring on his ring finger of his left hand. He sheathed Blackfyre and made way to the other boats. He didn’t bother with packing and sat in the boat straight away. He cut the ropes and his boat dropped into the ocean. The lied on his back and let the rain clean him. Unconsciousness took over him the next second and he knew no more.

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

[Gendry Waters](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/8/81/Gendry_Amoka.png)

[Jory Cassel](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/1/11/Jory_Cassel_Amok.jpg)

[Rodrik Cassel](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/e/ea/Rodrik_middle.jpg)

[Syrio Forel](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/0/0c/Syrio_Forel.jpg)

[The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/9/9c/Malleon.jpg)


	6. CH 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE DRAGON PRINCESS POV: A week after THE DRAGONWOLF PRINCE POV (CH5)  
> THE QUIET WOLF POV: One Day after THE WILD DIREWOLF POV (CH5)  
> THE YOUNG DIREWOLF POV: One Week after THE STUNTED LION POV (CH5)  
> THE WILD DIREWOLF POV: One week after THE QUIET WOLF POV (CH6)  
> THE QUIET WOLF POV: The Same day as THE WILD DIREWOLF POV (CH6)  
> THE DRAGONWOLF PRINCE POV: Two days after THE DRAGON PRINCESS POV(CH6)

**The Dragon Princess**

The sea was a dangerous place to live, surviving for three days after the storm was awful. During those days, Daenerys was very distraught. She and Jaehaerys had shared a short kiss before he left to kill Viserys. She remembered the softness of his lips on hers, his scent of pinewoods, invading her nose. She could still remember every short detail of his face and her  heart wretched when she thought of him. She was still angry at Viserys for killing Rhaegar, kinslaying was never something she considered especially with so little family left. The first few days she had spent on the boat were with the company of Ghost and a barrel full of dead fish. Ghost had eaten up majority of the fish, but she had still had her fill.

She had been sailing on the vast, expanse of the ocean for almost a week, if she remembered correctly. She had still no idea as to where Jaehaerys was, _‘is he safe?’_ , but question before safe was the question of him being alive. A small, part of her brain told her that Jae had died, and that she was the last living Targaryen alive. Unless Viserys somehow escaped, which she couldn’t believe, as Jae wouldn’t leave him alive, even if it meant his death.

The blood red clouds of Valyria were approaching her even faster than before. They contrasted so differently with the normal blue sky, as if it looked like a battlefield soaked in blood, where hundreds and thousands of soldiers laid dead. She knew she should not enter Valyria, after all, any man or woman that had dared enter Valyria had never returned, Aurion the Dragonlord had proven it, when he had gone to reclaim the lands of his ancestors during the period known as the ‘Century of Blood’. But something called to her when the saw the clouds. It spoke to her in her mind and the voice oddly reminded her of Rhaegar.

_‘Bisa iksis se lenton hen aōha lentor, Daenērys Jelmāzmo.  Īlē naejot māzigon kesīr tolī izulagār jēdri.’_

Come, come it called to her and little she could do to change the course of her boat. She had no oars and the wood had gotten hot that Ghost had trouble keeping his paws on the floor. Most of the time he laid across the width of the boat his height easily covering the width. In the night she used to turn on to Ghost clinging to his fur so that he could provide her warmth. She slept like that almost every night, not trying to bother with the dreams that came her way. Today she was wide awake, eating away at the some of the few fish that had been left. When she looked back she could see the blue ocean, but when she looked forward she could see mist covering the red sea. The fourteen flames of Valyria, beneath the sea, whose colors were reflected on the blue sky. She could see land at distance, but without a paddle it would take quite a while to reach shore. She sighed in frustration. How could she have stayed a month on the ship?

 _Jaehaerys._ A smart voice replied to her. She smiled at the thought. Yes, she was alive on the ship because of him. With him she could be herself and not pretend to be princess. She could fight with him, she could tell him to give her massages, and she could sleep on his bed and he couldn’t do anything about it. She liked that. She liked being independent, but with him around. Now she was alone, in this space, which looked more and more like a canvas painted blue on one side and red on the other, made her mind go haywire. She patiently waited for the land to come. At least in Valyria she could explore the island, as long as the environment suited her. She would not give up her one-time opportunity of seeing Valyria firsthand. She was anxious of the dark lands that awaited her, but her rational mind figured that the probability of her meeting her end would be very low. Afterall, blood of dragonlords flow through her veins.

* * *

It was near sunset before she landed on the beach of Valyria when, and the color of the sky had changed to a darker shade of red. The beaches of Valyria were not the most impressive sight that a man would like to see. There were thousands of bones, black in color, littered across the beach. Some had the shape of dragons, with their wings, the skulls bigger than the size of carriages, the others had the shape of firewyrms. She had studied all about firewyrms form the books Rhaegar had given her. Firewyrms stayed in the fourteen flames, deep, and were wild. They could not be tamed by dragon horns, that were used to control the dragons. The firewyrm skeletons that she had found were black as dragonbone, they were long and twisted, and there were no wing-like bones. She picked up the nearest bone and dug it into the sand firmly and tied a rope from the boat the bone, keeping the boat at bay. The only belongings that she carried with her from the boat was Dark Sister and her satchel of dragon eggs. Ghost also followed her like a lost puppy. She could understand him, his companion lost, and far away from his brothers and sisters on a foreign beach, filled with bones of creatures that could swallow him in one gulp. She could feel the fear rising in her, but she started walking inland until she came up to a dead end from which she could see the ruined city of Old Valyria.

Old Valyria, despite being destroyed by gods know what, was still an impressive sight to see. The straight roads made of black stone, the houses and palaces, or what was left of them, shaped in the form of dragons, made of the same stone that had made the roads. There were no rooftops, naturally, because dragons needed to land somewhere if a rider was going to ride. The roads were filled with flowing molten red liquid. She continued walking along the road, marveling at the scene that had been put in front of her. The red liquid hissed near her feet, the hem of her dress wet from the ocean, instantly dried. She was careful to avoid it for the rest of her stay.

Soon enough she came in front of a massive palace. The palace was not affected by the catastrophe that had affected the lands around it. The walls still stood strong, sphinxes with eyes of emeralds perched on the ramparts towering over her. The door was shaped in the mouth of a dragon, the tongue lolling out and the glinting teeth. She went inside the palace to see that it was a temple from inside with statues of the different Valyrian gods. She could see why the Valyrians thought themselves close to gods. The gods of Valyria didn’t have a definite shape. The body was scaly, a long tail instead of legs, the stomach covered with scaled and the breasts covered with scales. In place of nipples were spikes. The face was neither of a man or a woman, it had the sternness and beauty of both, just like the Valyrians did. She went out of the temple to find Ghost sitting outside the walls staring at one of the sphinxes, not noticing that he had followed behind her into the temple.

“Well you didn’t come inside with me, did you?” She asked him. She thought it was quite foolish, but she knew that he was a smart wolf. He just bobbed his head. “Well, you are a creature of the north, and we are far away from your home. You do not have to venture into every building we come across.” She plainly said.

With that, they made their way back to the beach. The walk to the beach was a long one, or so she thought because she had seen the monuments already. Arriving back at the beach, she found a spot where she could settle down for the evening. Preparing her sleeping arrangements, she went to the boat and opened a trunk. On top was Jae’s harp. She took out the harp and laid it on the boat. She took out her clothes next and wore the thickest ones she had. She knew that the nights on the beaches were a bit cold. She shimmied out of her tight dress and wore the clothes she had taken out. She motioned for Ghost to come to her. She laid at the sandy beach littered with dragon bones. Unable to fall asleep, she started plucking at the strings of Jae’s harp. She had observed Jae learning to play the instrument and guided herself to sleep through singing in High Valyrian and playing what she remembered. Laying on Ghost’s soft fur and the cool sandy beach, sleep took her and aided her with a dream.

_She was flying in the air, on a great big black beast. A dragon, she realized. She could feel the thrill of the air rushing through her face, blowing her hair. The dragon beneath her roared loudly, sending vibrations to lands as far as Westeros. A reply soon came from a roar of another dragon. The other dragon was green and similar in size to the one she mounted. Atop the green dragon were two faces, one familiar and one she had not seen before. The familiar face belonged to Jae and the unfamiliar face belonged to a boy of eight. The boy had Jae’s wine-colored eyes._

_“Muña!” the boy shouted. “Look at me!” the boy said._

_"Terrax, take us closer to him.” She said to the dragon. She knew not where the name came from, but it automatically came to her mind._

_“Muña, look!” With that Aemon jumped off the green dragon._

_“Aemon!” She shouted after him._

_“Syrax!” Aemon shouted to the air. Suddenly, another dragon came a red one. At the last moment, Aemon grabbed the spikes of the dragon and seated himself on the dragon, Syrax._

She woke up, breathing heavily. She thought about the dream. Jae and her flying above the clouds, and their son. Oh, their son, he was so beautiful. With Jae’s eyes and hair, and their nose, lips. She remembered the red dragon from her dream, Syrax, Aemon had called it. She looked at the dragon eggs and took the black one. _Terrax_ , she thought. The black dragon from this egg was named Terrax. She held it close and slept again, cuddling against her white furred protector.

**The Quiet Wolf**

The streets of King’s Landing were filthy, especially the one they were walking through currently. Sansa, Arya, Jory were making the journey with him and he couldn’t help but feel a little worried. Where he was leading them was unknown to him. He had taken up on this offer of Baelish, because both Sansa and Arya had come barging into his room, telling him that they heard from the spider that their lady mother was in the city. When he said that he would go and meet her, the girls had surrounded him and demanded to see her as well. When together, Sansa and Arya made a formidable pair, and he was forced into taking them with him. They arrived at some building far from Red Keep, quickly Baelish got down from his horse first and they followed him, dismounting and settling the horses in the small stables. When they walked closer to the building he could see the whores on the balcony. He could hear the gasps come out of the mouths of the girls. How dare Baelish keep a Lady in a brothel! Not just any Lady, he had kept his wife in such a wretched establishment! Did man not fear for his life? Lord Baelish stood at the door and motioned them inside.

“I thought she’d be safest in here. One of several such establishments I hold.” Baelish said. He grabbed the Master of Coin by the throat and pushed him to the wall. He could hear Baelish choke and squirm underneath his hand, but he still held him tightly. Baelish tried to tug on to his fingers, but he couldn’t seem to hold on to it.

“You’re a funny man, a very funny man. Heh?” He asked and threatened him in the same breath.

“Ned.” A voice called him from upstairs. He looked up to see the face of his wife. He still could not believe that Catelyn had come all the way here from Winterfell. He left Baelish and moved inside to meet her. In the middle of the brothel, he found Sansa and Arya looking at the people in there with disgust.

“Sansa, Arya. Go upstairs.” He said to them and followed them. Upstairs he could see an old, stout man with broad shoulders and white hair. He had whiskers on his face. He recognized him a Ser Rodrik.

“My Lord.” Ser Rodrik greeted him.

“Ser Rodrik.” He greeted him back. “Tell me how Robb has done in holding the North?” He asked the old knight.

“My Lord, Lord Robb is doing a fine job holding the North. He has ordered the repairs of the Broken tower, which must have been finished by now, and has tasked Lord Manderly with building the Northern fleet.” Ser Rodrik answered. The Broken Tower was understandable, it was the highest watchtower of Winterfell. The Northern fleet, he didn’t understand. What had happened that Robb had taken such a measure? He supposed only Catelyn could give him the proper answers to his questions.

Entering a luxury room, he noticed fine furniture, properly made bed, and a table and loveseat. The appearance of the room was nice, but he wouldn’t think of sitting down or touching anything in the room, considering the establishment. Catelyn herself was on the balcony. The girls flocked to their mother for a hug, graciously accepting it. The hug despite being one of a reunion was not a warm one. He looked at Cat’s face. Her face was one of sadness and insecurity. He needed answers to what was going on.

“How is Robb, my lady?” He asked Cat the same question that he had asked Ser Rodrik.

“Robb and Rickon are fine, Ned. It is Bran, I came to tell you about.”

“Mother, what happened to Bran?” Arya asked, her voice had a fearful edge to it. He looked back to Cat and could see tears forming in her eyes. He hugged her close trying to comfort her. What had happened to Bran? He needed to know what happened to his son.

“What happened, Cat. Tell us.” He said to her softly. He could feel her tears soaking his tunic. He held Catelyn by her shoulders and rubbed the tears away from her eyes. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. “Shh…” He tried to calm. “Everything is going to be fine.” He told her.

“Nothing is going to fine Ned,” Catelyn said. Dread settled in his stomach. The children came and hugged her again, tears forming in their eyes too. “Bran…. he is never going to wake up Ned. Never ever.” Cat broke the news to them. Ned stood still, completely shocked at the words from his wife. He couldn’t understand why this happened, Maester Luwin had told him that Bran would wake up?

“But, Maester Luwin told us that Bran would wake up.” He told Catelyn. Cat just brought out a dagger. The hilt was dragonbone. It was at that moment he saw Catelyn’s bandaged hand. His shot out and he immediately grabbed the bandaged hand.

“What happened?” He asked his grey gaze meeting Catelyn’s blue ones.

“Bran was killed, Ned. A catspaw was sent with this blade, made of Valyrian steel and dragonbone, to spill the lifeblood of our son. I tried to stop him, but he had backhanded me, and I fell unconscious. When I woke up, Robb told me that Bran was dead and there was a funeral being held in three days. When I asked him about the catspaw, he said that Shaggydog killed him. The direwolves are a gift from gods Ned, your gods. They will protect their family as well as they can. Please tell me that girls have them?” She explained. He gently took the dagger from her hand and played with it in the sunlight. He could see the brown on the edges. _Blood,_ he realized.

“No….” Arya’s voice came. “No, no no! You can’t be telling the truth! Please, mother, father, please.” By the end of it, she started to hit him in the chest. He just held her as her beatings stopped and she openly cried over the death of her brother. Sansa had also gone to hug Catelyn. He moved, Arya still attached to him and hugged both Sansa and Cat. The family of four mourned the death of one of their pack. Ned broke away first, after some time.

“Robert would have killed the direwolves if he saw them again,” Ned explained. “Nymeria bit Joffrey, because he threatened Arya. They are likely still in the Riverlands, prowling and hunting.” He told her. Catelyn looked at him incredulously.

“Girls go back to the keep with Jory. I need to talk to you father.” Catelyn said.

“But, Mother-” Sansa tried to protest but Catelyn shut her off with a glare. Sansa meekly nodded, grabbed Arya and went downstairs.

“When do you leave?” He asked Catelyn.

“This evening.” She answered. “Ned it was the Lannisters who did it.” She told him. “We found clumps of long gold hair, from where Bran fell. The catspaw had twenty gold dragons. No one spends twenty gold dragons to kill a boy and only Lannisters can pay so much gold to kill a boy of seven.” She tried to persuade him. Even he had his doubts about the Lannisters but without proof, he could not do anything.

“We don’t know who our enemies are Catelyn.” He told her.

“Littlefinger told me that this dagger was his. He lost it to Tyrion Lannister in a bet.” “Who could hold such a dagger like this Ned? No person gives a Valyrian steel dagger to kill someone. Valyrian steel is only held by those who can afford to keep it, and we all know that the Lannisters are the richest.” Catelyn told him again.

“I’ll look more into this matter.” He told her.

“And then?” Cat asked him.

“And then, I’ll bring what I find to Robert. I just hope that he was the man that I knew once.” He told her.

“I need to go, or the others will get suspicious. Take care of yourself on the road Cat.” He told her. “And keep that anger of yours in check. It is a dangerous thing.” He said seriously.

“My anger. My, my Ned, you almost killed Littlefinger today.” She said. There was a silence between them.

“I’ll send the girls back to Winterfell next chance I have. This the first time they will be attending a tourney, let them have some enjoyment while they’re stuck here. Then they’ll journey to Winterfell, myself included after I’ve sorted this realm together.” He told her. She nodded. He leaned down in for a kiss and she reciprocated it. Their lips met in a short, sweet kiss that would help him warm in Kings Landing. “Goodbye, my lady,” he said as he left the room, to her. He met Ser Rodrik outside standing vigil, his face red.

“Take care of my wife Ser Rodrik. I charge you with her protection.” He told him.

“Yes, my lord.” Ser Rodrik said. He went down outside the door and saw Catelyn leaning on the balcony. He looked to her the last time before he mounted his horse and left for the Red Keep.

**The Young Direwolf**

The saddle design Tyrion Lannister had given him was well-made. The saddle, unlike the horse saddles, didn’t contain leather straps to bind a muzzle on Grey Wind. The saddle was simple, with cushioning, and the place to put the legs were already strapped to the saddle. It allowed better maneuvering while sitting on Grey Wind. He could stand and use Ice, without any care of hurting his wolf. In fact, he saddled Grey Wind the day it was made, and Grey Wind had taken it like fish to water. He had ordered the construction of another saddle like it for Shaggydog, so Rickon too could ride his direwolf. He knew Rickon had grown tired of staying in Winterfell all alone by himself, as he was busy with the duties of the Lord of Winterfell. The Broken Tower would be completed in the next two to three days. He had also ordered the construction of the First Keep. The keep’s walls were intact, but instead of a squad and round drum tower, he had ordered it to be square. He had given the builders permission to repair structures damaged from centuries of weather and to uproot the gargoyles, as long as they had an understanding of how he wanted the whole keep to look. His plan for the keep was to reduce the size to a maximum of two floors, excluding the ground floor. He had already given them a plan of how the Ground floor would look and had promised a meeting for plans for the First floor as well. Their remaining supplies would be used to make a ring fort around the keep. He had taken this idea from Maegor’s Holdfast inside the Red Keep. A castle within a castle; the Starks would be safe inside it. All this caution had entrenched within him since Bran’s death. He would visit Bran’s crypt every day to see the stonemason’s worked on his brother’s statue. A Stark killed within the walls of his home had left an eerie feeling inside him. Today he would be riding with Theon and Rickon into Wolf’s Wood to cool down his racing mind, fresh air was needed. Theon had been pressing him to call his bannermen after Bran’s funeral. He had also forgotten to send a letter to his cousin Arthur because he frankly didn’t know what to say. His father had kept two secrets from his every one. One about Jaehaerys Targaryen, Jon Snow, whoever the hell he was, he was his brother, now and always. The other about Arthur Sand, his cousin, sired by his uncle Brandon, “The Wild Wolf”, as the northmen called him.

“Robb, Robb, when are we going to Wolfswood.” Rickon’s voice came, taking him from his thoughts. Rickon was nearly four and he could talk like any other child in Winterfell but preferred to speak in his babyish voice.

“Yes Rickon, we will leave for the Wolf’s Wood in a moment.” He said. He picked up Rickon and went with him all the way to the kennels. Ever since Bran had died a fiery temper had awoken in Rickon, the wolfs blood, his father had called it. His father had said that while Bran and he had a touch of it, Rickon and Arya had gotten the full force of it, leaving none for Jon and Sansa. In the kennels he saw Shaggydog, wagging his tail as if exited, and Grey Wind looking at him incredulously. He almost laughed at the scene. These direwolves were certainly as smart as them. He neared Grey Wind and attached the saddle on the wolf’s back. Then he took Rickon to Shaggydog and taught him how to put the saddle on.

“See, Rickon, you throw this on him like this and then you go underneath him,” he said as he took both of them underneath Shaggydog, “and then you tie the saddle like this. Get it?” He asked Rickon. Rickon just bobbed his head like a good boy. He ruffled Rickon hair as Rickon gave him a cheeky grin. He placed Rickon on Shaggydog and tightened the straps around his leg, enough so he would not fall, and not too tight, to not irritate his legs.

“Theon hurry up!” He shouted as Theon came to his line of sight. Theon put his horse into a fast trot as he settled on Grey Wind. They rode to the hunter’s gate and exited for the Wolfswood. Shaggydog ran as fast as his legs allowed him, finding freedom for the first time in many days. Grey Wind, the alpha of the pack would not be outmatched and ran after him, catching him easily. The entire time Theon’s horse tried to keep distance between itself and the wolves. Direwolves grow quickly, and Winterfell’s were the size of ponies.

They had made their way into the woods, the Direwolf’s paws were silently crushing twigs, contrasting Theon’s horse that was loud enough to warn anyone close of their presence. After further riding, Robb got off Grey Wind and sat down on the ground. Grey Wind, like an obedient puppy, lay flat on his stomach, savoring the feel of the grass on his belly. Rickon was howling wildly on the back of Shaggydog.

“Not too fast.” He chided Rickon. Theon came and sat beside him, his horse, tied up far away from them and his bow and quiver slung on his back.

“You need to make the Lannister’s pay for Bran,” Theon said. _‘He won’t stop will he’_ I thought.

“Were talking about war.” He said, half-heartedly.

“Were talking about justice,” Theon said, firmly.

“Only the Lord of Winterfell can call the banners and raise an army.” He said to Theon, trying to explain the situation.

“Your father made you interim Lord of Winterfell. That gives you the same rights as a Lord of Winterfell. The Kingslayer is with the queen, in the Red Keep, and no one can touch him.” Theon said.

“You mean for me to march on King’s Landing? What would the king think of that? He will kill my father for my treason!” He protested vehemently.

“They attacked Bran. The Lannister’s attacked Bran, you can march on Casterly Rock. They have already started the war. It’s your duty to represent your house when your father can’t.” Theon argued.

“Don’t talk to me about my house’s duty, Greyjoy. You’re not a Stark, don’t claim to know the right course of action for my family.” Robb said carefully, his eyes filled with anger. How could Greyjoy suggest that! Theon’s face held a look of shock. He looked away not wanting to look back at Theon, but his ears couldn’t hear any sound of Shaggydog or Rickon. He stood up and looked at the around, all he could see was the trees. “Where’s Rickon?” He asked Theon. Theon stood up beside him and looked around.

“Don’t know, he’s not my family,” Theon spoke with pettiness laced in his voice. Then Theon walked away, to his horse.

“Go then! Go to your weakling of a father!” he shouted to him.

“Fuck off.” Was all Theon said, as he sat on his horse and rode for Winterfell.

He looked to Grey Wind. “Boy. Find Shaggydog and Rickon.” He commanded. The direwolf obeyed and started to sniff around. It was just then that he heard a howl, so deep, it was broadcasting its anger. He knew that howl. _Shaggydog._ That meant Rickon. He quickly climbed on Grey Wind and strapped himself on with haste. Grey Wind then bolted in the direction of the howl, the rush of wind against made his blood run wild. He could only see the blurring of the trees. He stood up on his legs and unsheathed Ice from its new scabbard. The sword strapped to his back so that it was easy for both him and Grey Wind, but he noted as the sheath, so long, stuck to Grey Wind; it would be easier for his wolf if the scabbard was attached to saddle. At a distance, he could see six wildlings, all attacking Shaggydog while three more lay dead on the forest floor. Grey Wind jumped into battle and growled ferociously, announcing himself. The tall wildling didn’t even have a chance as Grey Wind’s teeth sank into his neck. Robb quickly cleaved the second man that came in front of him and Grey Wind knocked down the third, embedding his claws his chest. The remaining four quickly regrouped, trying to form a defensive position against the wolfs. The resistance was futile as he heard a howl, not from Grey Wind or Shaggydog. Out came Summer, with his silvery-grey fur and yellow eyes. Behind him followed a pack of wolves, probably his own. The remaining wildings were cut down like animals save for one. She was on her knees, begging for mercy.

“Rickon are you okay?” Robb questioned as he rushed towards the youngest Stark, getting down from Grey Wind.

“The bad men, they tried to hurt me, but Shaggy saved me,” Rickon spoke. He was shaking, fear in his eyes from the near-death experience. Robb regretted the whole venture, he could have lost another brother. Shaking that thought away, he saw Grey Wind and Summer lock their heads together, possibly greeting each other. He took Rickon down held him tightly in his arms, letting his brother bury his head in the neck.

He went back to the wildling girl, putting up a cold mask on his face. “Milord, please, milord, don’t kill me, I’ll do anything for you.” She spoke, fear was leaking from her eyes as she eyed the three direwolves and the pack of wolves beside them.

“You’ll live but Summer will keep watch on you. When he is not there, Shaggydog will.” He looked at the wolves who had raised their heads when they had been recognized.

“Thank you, milord. Thank you. Thank you.” She kept muttering.

“What is your name?” He asked her.

“Osha, milord.” She said.

“Grey Wind, Shaggydog, Summer, come here.” He called out to them. All three direwolves walked towards him.

“Summer, follow Osha, don’t turn your eyes from her. When we return to Winterfell you may visit Bran.” He ordered Summer. He knew it was stupid, but direwolves were intelligent animals. Summer just bobbed his head. If war was going to come, the direwolves would be an asset. If there was to be war, then the North needed gold. Wars were won with blood and gold; the north was home to strong warriors but lacked the funds for an impressive campaign. With recent events increasing tension amongst the houses of Westeros, Robb took up this challenge. It was up to him to strengthen the North while his father was gone. He would have to find the gold himself. Recent summer storms have led the free cities to demand more lumber enter the market, or so Maester Luwin has said. The north has the forests to extract more than enough lumber, and Robb would take this opportunity. The swamps of the neck could provide a few plants and herbs with later processing can be medicines to cure some illnesses. Many men die on war march from the sicknesses of camp and nature, so it would always be in their interest to have the right medicines on them. If war to break out right now, one the first things he would do as he entered Winterfell’s gates would be to order Maester Luwin to write letters to all the houses of the north, small and great, calling for their banners and resources, to export to Essos through White Harbor. He would personally have to write to Lord Manderly about the negotiations of a trade route between Winterfell to White Harbor.

He first settled Rickon on Shaggydog and then mounted Grey Wind. The ride to Winterfell was a quiet one. When they arrived at the gates of Winterfell, the first thing he did was to order the guards to secure the wildling woman and place her in a room. The guards put her on shackles and she was taken away.

“Go on Summer. Go see Bran. He is in the crypts.” He said to Summer after he ordered another guard to open the crypt’s door. As Summer quietly left the courtyard, Robb dismounted while he could see Rickon getting off by himself. A true smile fell on his face as he watched his brother. He walked towards him, picking him up and raising him over his head before setting him on the ground.

“I have a meeting with Maester Luwin that I cannot miss Rickon. Be a good boy.” He said to him. “Hallis,” He shouted to the master of his household guard, “Escort Rickon to Old Nan.” The man nodded and led Rickon to his chambers.

He went to the Maester’s turret and saw Maester Luwin bent over some parchments. He just chuckled at the sight. The same old Maester Luwin trying to read as well as his old eyes allowed him. The Maester just looked at him and addressed his lord. “Lord Robb, how may I be of service.”

“Maester Luwin, I want you to write letters to all the houses in the north, large and small, that they are to contribute a certain amount of tradable goods or resources to Winterfell. They will receive compensation for their exchange after we sell them, and as their overlord, we will gain a portion, say one fifth, of the profits.” He told the Maester.

“And may I ask why this decision, Lord Robb?” The Maester questioned.

“If it comes to war we need to be prepared. The Northern Army stands at forty thousand strong, but we don’t have the gold to sustain a long campaign by ourselves. The cities of Essos need wood more than ever, and we can meet their demand without selling our goods too low. The North has a variety of resources that could do well in the essosi market. If it comes to war, the North will be ready to defend itself.” He answered.

“Very well my lord. Anything else?” Maester Luwin asked.

“Yes, tell the lords and ladies of houses Bolton, Umber, Karstark, Manderly, Mormont, Glover, Cerwyn and Reed, that Robb Stark, interim Lord of Winterfell, calls them for the celebration of the end of the harvest feast in the North, that will happen in two months. And call Lord Howland Reed here especially. I want to talk to him myself.” He said.

“And what is the motive behind it?” Maester Luwin asked. The Maester had always been smart.

“You’re smart Maester Luwin, why don’t you figure it out yourself?” He said. With that done he left Maester’s turret to his chambers in the Great Keep. On the way he found Theon Greyjoy, bags in his hands, sword on hip, and bow and quiver slung around his shoulder.

“Where are you going?” He asked Theon.

“To my bloody, weakling of a father, Stark,” Theon answered.

“You don’t get to leave Greyjoy. You are a hostage in Winterfell.” He said to him, explaining to Theon his situation.

“Well Lord Stark, you yourself told me to go to the Iron Islands. That is where I’m heading.” Theon answered.

“Fine then leave. And never in your worthless, iron-scum life show your face near Winterfell’s walls, or your head just might grace them.” He shot back. With that Theon Greyjoy left Winterfell, once and for all. Robb Stark didn’t know what folly he had committed.

**The Wild Direwolf**

The death of Bran had hit her hard. The brother she would play with and tease while growing up was gone. She had done everything that she could do to keep her mind off it not murder the Lannister twins. She had gone to Syrio days after her mother’s visit, instead of catching cats, Syrio had her practice with a sword until her arms and legs were sore and bruised. Syrio was an expert in water dancing and the former first sword of Braavos. When she had asked why he was removed from that position he had not answered. He had given her several pointers as to how a man should wield a sword. When she had complained she was a girl and not a boy, Syrio had told her that it did not matter because she was a sword. He had taught not to hear but to see and to suppress her fear inside her. She had done exactly that for the following days, pushing the pain of losing Bran deep inside in one corner of her heart. Today Syrio had told her to catch all the cats in the Red Keep and she was going to do exactly that.

She had caught almost all the cats except the same black tomcat. The tomcat had many a times infuriated her to the point where she nearly lost it but today she was just focused on getting the task done. Her legs hurt from all the running she had done. The tomcat was sitting on the windowsill and was mewing.

“Come on.” She softly spoke as she neared the cat. The cat glanced towards her. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She continued. She almost reached the cat, hands stretched out, but the cat know its surroundings and quickly fled. She chased after the black tomcat, running into a part of the Red Keep she had never been to before, pursuing the chase it until she found some stairs. _Stairs,_ it seemed odd to her. To her knowledge, she had never seen anyone travel here, or the King had forbidden such. She could care less of the King’s rules, she just wanted to catch the bloody cat. As she climbed down the steps the first thing she saw was the skull of a massive beast.

The skull was black, pure black, and shiny, bigger than a carriage. A single tooth of the beast was bigger than her and too was black. She traced ahead, swallowing down the bile building up on her throat. She touched the lower part of the tooth and nicked herself on it. _Sharp,_ the tooth was still sharp like a dagger. She touched the bones of the beast. They were warm to touch, very warm. _Dragons,_ came to her mind, she had read enough history from Maester Luwin to know that the skull could only belong to either Balerion, Vaghar or Meraxes. She secretly hoped that it was Vaghar for she too wanted to become like the Warrior-Queen’s Visenya and Nymeria. She had also named her Direwolf on Nymeria’s honor and courage.

“He’s found one bastard already. He had the book. The rest will come.” She heard a gruff voice. She gasped and quickly hid inside the beast's maw, thinking that if it would have been alive how easily it would have devoured her. The beast’s mouth was also quite warm, and it heated her, something which she did not want, because she preferred the summer snows of Winterfell. She could hear the man open the locks and the gate gave a squeak, as if it was opened after a long time.

“And when he knows the truth, what will he do?” Another asked. His voice was a bit thinner than the first ones.

“Only the gods know. The fools tried to kill his son. Then they sent an assassin, who finished the job. Robb Stark has proof and can march anytime to Casterly Rock. It is only the boy’s father that is keeping him from starting a war, or Robb Stark has a mind for politics.” The gruff one said. She heard the closing of doors. Robb was going to march on Casterly Rock to avenge Bran, or he would if father would allow it. “The Lions and the Wolves will be at each other’s throats soon. War is going to come to Westeros my friend.”

“War is not good right now. We are not ready, ever since, Lord Daeron brought his Jaehaerys with him, I’ve been confused. The boy looks exactly like a Targaryen, silver hair but the eyes are a purple shade of Wine. The boy has a lot of potential and is a formidable warrior. He also is good on political ground and is most likely going to marry Daenerys. They have become very close. But right now, both of them are lost, ever since the fool Viserys made a mutiny on the ship. They have abandoned the ship. And have sailed into the storm. And anyway, if one Hand can die why can’t the other.” The light one said.

“This Hand is not like the others, and besides, if you are correct then he is the Jaehaerys Targaryen’s uncle.” The gruff one said.

“We cannot make a move, not until they are found and have an army at their back.” The light one said.

“What of the eggs?” The gruff one asked.

“The Dragon eggs according to me are the same. Cold. But to them the eggs are are warm.” The light one said. They kept going on up as she came out of her hiding place. _Dragon eggs. Armies. Lions and Direwolves at war. Jaehaerys Targaryen, her cousin, son of Rhaegar._ The mother of the child then would be her aunt, _Lyanna Stark._ She quickly moved to the gate that had been opened but found it locked, she saw a way down and she quickly moved that way, her heart thumping at the information.

She walked down and down until she couldn’t see anything, except darkness. But she could smell. She could smell the pungent and waspish scent invading her nose. She didn’t know the way back, so she kept walking forward. Soon enough her legs drowned into water. She could feel the water soaking in her shoes and her breeches were wet. She could feel the smell of shit invade her nose as she kept walking forward. Soon enough all of her was soaked to her calves, but she kept walking forward. The smell kept disappearing and she kept on walking until she saw a brief ray of light, enter her eyes. She was momentarily blinded by the light, but she soon regained her eyes. She kept on walking to find herself on the banks of the Blackwater Bay.

The river bank of the bay was polluted with the sewage from the Red Keep. On her side of the river bank, she could see the sun dazzling in the sky, descending downwards, and a rainbow from on the sea. It was nearing evening and she had to get back to the Keep. Looking out to the sea from the shore, she could see the never-ending waters that separated two continents for miles. She turned back to the passage and started walking all the way to the Keep. It was going to be long walk, but she was determined. She to tell her father what she saw and heard.

**The Quiet Wolf**

He was sitting in the small council chamber, with all his lords present, bar Ser Barristan and Lord Stannis. The king too was not present, as usual, and the rest were sitting there doing their own work. For a time, it looked to him as if he was the only one in the small council who was his job. In front of him standing was Ser Janos Slynt, Lord-Commander of the City Watch.

“It’s the Hand’s tourney that is causing all this trouble my lords.” Slynt said. Just hearing the words “hand’s tourney” made his blood boil. He had gone to Robert telling him that the tourney was a cost too heavy for the crown, but Robert had just brushed it off, telling him that Baelish would arrange the funds. Now the tourney was planned to start in exactly five days.

“The King’s tourney.” He corrected the man. “I assure you that the Hand wants no part of it.” He said.

“Call it what you will Lord Stark, ser. The city is packed with people and more are flooding every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the street of sisters.” Slynt explained.

“Dreadful.” Varys commented.

“If you can’t keep the King’s peace, perhaps the city watch should be commanded by someone who can.” Renly commented. Renly as usual was dressed in fine cloth, like every day. A green doublet over a black tunic, with black breeches and a golden stag pin. He was dressed in both Baratheon and Tyrell colors. Green, Gold, and Black.

“I need more men.” Slynt said to Renly. He could see the red rise to cheeks in embarrassment.

“You’ll get fifty. Lord Baelish will see it paid.” He said, glancing towards Baelish.

“I will?” Baelish questioned.

“If you can find money for the champions purse then you can surely find money to keep the Kings peace.” He shot back to Baelish. Baelish just went back to his work.

“I also give you twenty of my household guard until this is over.” He said to Slynt.

“Thank you, Lord Hand, ser. They will be put to good use.” Slynt said, and then he bowed and left the council chambers.

“The sooner this is over the better.” He said to no one in particular, taking a swing from his glass of chilled wine to soothe his throat.

“The realm prospers from such events, my lord. They give a greater chance of glory and the lowly are respite from their vows.” Varys said.

“Every inn and brothel in the city are full, and the whores are walking bow-legged.” Littlefinger added.

“And I am sure that there are many coins in every pocket” He said. Littlefinger just hummed at it. “Now that there is nothing to discuss my Lords.” He said, and he stood up from his chair. The other lords of the small council also stood up, Renly leaving immediately, Varys giving him a short bow, while Baelish gave him a rather elaborate bow, Baelish’s smiling, grey-green eyes meeting his stone-grey ones.

All of them left until only he was left. He started walking all the way to his chamber’s in the Hand’s tower, when Baelish came and greeted him once more.

“Lord Stark.” He said.

“Lord Baelish.” He said it too. “What do you need.” He straightaway asked him.

“My lord you hurt me, by saying that I needed something.” Baelish said in mock concern. “I heard you are reading a rather boring book?” He asked.

“Pycelle talks to much.” He just said, affirming Baelish answer to his question.

“Oh he never stops!” Baelish exclaimed. “Do you know of Ser Hugh of the Vale?” Baelish asked. Ser Hugh. Why would I know the name of a irrelevant knight? Baelish glanced at him. He just kept walking wherever Baelish was taking him. “Not surprised.” he muttered. “Until recently he was only a squire. Jon Arryn’s squire.” Baelish said, emphasizing on Jon Arryn. “He was knighted almost immediately after his master’s untimely death.”

“Knighted for what?” He asked Baelish. He had a suspicion that Baelish was throwing him on this Ser Hugh’s way because he could be a witness. Baelish said nothing, but his eyes said it all. “Why are you telling me this.” He demanded of Baelish.

“I promised Cat that I would help you.” Baelish said. Dammit Catelyn! Baelish was still in love with her and only his wife would never see it.

“Where is Ser Hugh. I’ll speak to him.” He said to Baelish, demanding the location.

“A singularly bad idea. Do you see that boy over there?” Baelish said, pointing with his eyes. He drifted his eyes to where Baelish told him. There were two children. One was playing with something, the other was looking at them. He could tell which child Baelish meant. “One of Varys’ little birds.” Baelish spoke in a low murmur. “The spider had taken a great interest in your comings and goings. Now look there.” He said pointing to an old man who was working. “That one belongs to the Queen.” He said. “And you see that Septa over there pretending to read her book.” Indeed, he saw. The Septa kept glancing at them intermittently.

“Varys or the Queen?” He asked Baelish.

“No, she is one of mine.” Baelish said to him. They walked a few more paces. “Is there someone who you trust completely?” Baelish asked. Why did Baelish need to know if he trusted someone completely or not?

“Yes.” He answered truthfully. Baelish by the end of it was standing right in front of him.

“The wiser answer was no my lord.” Baelish said. “Send this paragon of yours to question Ser Hugh. After that you might want to visit a certain armorer in the city. He lives in a large house, at the top of the Street of Steel.” Baelish said.

“Why?” He questioned him.

“I’ve my observers as I’ve said. It is possible that they saw Lord Arryn visit this armorer, several times in the weeks before his death.” Baelish said. He was genuinely trying to help him.

“Lord Baelish, perhaps I was wrong to distrust you.” He said to him. Baelish just smirked.

“Distrusting me was the wisest thing you’ve done since you’ve gotten off your horse.” Baelish said and then he walked away. He would send Jory to Ser Hugh and him himself with Harwin would go visit this armorer today. He walked back to his tower to assign the guards their various duties. He first saw Jory and ordered him to go and question Ser Hugh once he was found, then with Harwin on his tail, he went to the stables to get his horse and ride to the location that Baelish had told him.

He and Harwin rode till they reached the top of the Street of Steel. There they found a sizable house on the road. Behind the house he could see a spacious forge where many smiths worked.

“Stay here Harwin while I go in.” He said to Harwin.

“Yes, milord.” Harwin nodded and held the reins of his horse while he went inside the shop of the best armorer of Kings Landing. Inside, he met with the man responsible for running the shop. Tobho Mott, was his name.

“Master Mott.” He called out in the forge. All the boys and men looked towards him. Finally, a man walked forward. He was well dressed and had come with a towel to wipe the sweat building on his face from the heat.

“My Lord Hand, to what do I owe this pleasure.” Mott said.

“I was informed that the previous Lord Hand visited here numerous times.” He said.

“Yes, my lord. Lord Arryn came here many times. I’m glad to say that he did honor me with his patronage.” Mott said. He was of course glad. After all, which wealthy man, such as Mott, would not proclaim that he had a Lord Paramount, and Lord Hand offer him patronage?

“What did the late Lord Arryn want?” He asked the man.

“Why, he always came here to meet the boy.” Mott said, surprised that he didn’t know that key piece of information.

“I’d like to see him as well, not to bother him.” He said.

“As you wish my lord.” Mott said. “Gendry.” He called out. A boy of fifteen came out of his place in the forge. He was quite muscular for his age, but it did not intrigue him as he had seen what Robert looked like growing up in the Eire. The boy was wearing what people in the lowest echelons of the society managed to find. He wore a torn tunic, stitched in a couple of places, and a pair of black worn out breeches. He also wore black boots with one toe sticking out of his left boot. “Here he is. Strong for his age; works hard. Show the Hand the helmet you made boy.” Mott said to the lad. The boy walked away to bring out a helmet and handed it over to him. The helmet was made in the shape of a bull’s head. It was finely detailed, with an open mouth, horns on both sides, and eye sockets so that the person wearing it could see through.

“This is fine work.” He commented.

“It’s not for sale.” The lad said almost immediately.

“Boy this is the King Hand. If the Lord wants the helmet-” Mott spoke, but the lad cut him off with a shake of his head.

“I made it for myself.” the lad said.

“Forgive him my lord.” Mott said.

“There is nothing to forgive.” He said. He handed the helmet back to the lad. “Master Mott if you can please step away. This is a conversation I want to have with the lad himself.” He said to Mott. Mott just bowed and went away, commanding the others to work. He turned his attention back to the lad. “When Lord Arryn came to visit you, what did he do.” He asked him.

“Just asked me some questions milord.” The lad said.

“What kind of questions?” He inquired further.

“About my work first. If I like it here? If I was being treated well? Then he started asking me about my mother.” The lad said.

“Your mother?” Jon Arryn talked to some boy about his mother. Why?

“Who she was? What did she look like?” The lad said. All this time the lad was facing the floor, occasionally looking up at him.

“What did you tell him.” He asked the boy.

“She had yellow hair. She died when I was young. She used to sing to me sometimes.” He said. The boy was showing his head to him by now. Black hair, Blue eyes. Robert looked like this, so did Stannis, and so did Renly.

“Look at me.” He ordered. The lad looked up to him. He had same cheekbones, jaw, hair color, eye color. _Like the eye of the Storm._ This boy was unmistakably Robert’s son. Judging by his age, he guessed that he was Robert’s eldest son. He gulped the saliva building in his mouth.

“What do you need the helmet for.” He asked the lad, trying to divert his mind. The queen would kill him, if she ever knew about him. Robert’s eldest son, bastard or not, people would clamber around him, due to him looking so much more a Baratheon than any of his half-brothers. Only Robert could protect him. With him around, Cersei wouldn’t have the guts to harm the lad.

“I will use it when I go and participate in the melee.” So, the lad was already going to introduce himself in the melee. Cersei, being smart, would figure it out instantly and arrange his death. He needed Robert to see him. Jon had taken interest in him, that meant something important.

“What will you fight in the melee with?” He asked the lad.

“A hammer.” the lad said. So much like Robert. Hammer’s over Swords.

“Could you show me it?” He asked of the lad. The lad nodded and went back to his work table and brought a hammer from underneath it. He walked to his table and took the hammer into his hands. He noticed it was lighter than Robert’s Warhammer, but lad’s hammer was equally bulky; he had to use two hands instead of one as the boy used.

The hammer was plain and simple, with two flat sides, so that instead of doing considerable damage, it would only break jaws. The handle was made of plain simple wood, covered with black leather. The shaft didn’t seem to be attached directly to the head.

“The shaft isn’t attached to the head?” He asked him.

“Yes, the shaft has greaves as does the head. They are fit together like puzzle pieces. If one wants to participate in battle, he needn’t change the whole hammer, just the head, with the same kind of greaves. The grip of your hand will remain the same.” He answered. _Perplexing_ was all he thought. The boy was very good. He had to get Robert to see the boy.

“Do you want to learn how to use a hammer?” He asked him. The boy was happy and then his expression soured.

“I’m a no name. Why would you take me?” The lad questioned him again.

“I am looking for potential, noble or commoner.” He said to the lad. The lad looked a little nervous, but happy, and I took that as a good sign. “Pack your things, whatever you need. I’ll talk with Master Mott.” The boy started packing his belongings, while he moved to the part of the shop where Mott was.

“How much for the lad?” he asked Mott. Mott turned around in surprise.

“My lord?” Mott questioned him.

“How much is it for the boy, Gendry?” He asked again. “He is in your service and I don’t think you will let me take such a hardworking boy without anything in return.”

“My lord he is all yours.” Mott said to him.

“You truly ask for nothing?” Responding in disbelief.

“My lord, if you are adamant about it, five dragons wouldn’t hurt.” Mott said. Even with such a grand house in this city, more was always better Mott. He works the boy to death in the forge, and greedily takes anything he can get out of his apprentice. He took out a bag containing ten dragons. He shoved it into Mott’s hand.

“Here, ten dragons.” He said to Mott and moved back towards Gendry. Gendry was standing there with one hand holding a bag with all his belongings and the other his hammer.

“Are you ready?” He asked. Gendry just nodded. They walked out of the shop and to where the horses were kept. He could see Harwin, looking at him, wondering why Gendry was walking with him.

“He is coming with us.” He answered the unasked question. With only two horses, he asked to Gendry take his, but boy stubbornly declined. He at the least took Gendry’s bag out of his hands and handed it to Harwin. As Harwin and himself rode up the streets of Kings Landing, Gendry walked in his torn boots on the cobblestone road. Getting back to the Red Keep was not hard, the guards could recognize the Hand of the King, and they proceeded to the Tower of the Hand. Gendry was tired, pouring in sweat from the long walk, but the boy still managed to look shocked at the sight of Castle. He had never been in a holdfast before, especially one belonging to the King. Gendry tried to drink in all the sights that the Red keep offered. He motioned Gendry to move inside and pulled Harwin aside.

“Take him to my room, get him a bath. The lad is nearly my size, so open my trunk and take out a shirt, breeches and a doublet. Black would suit him good. Also give him a pair of my boots. Get the lad dressed fast, I’ll be coming to see him.” He said to Harwin.

“Yes, milord.” Harwin said and went up to catch Gendry. He on the other hand went to wherever Robert was present right now. Robert needed to see his son. Bastard or not, Gendry was his eldest son. Soon he found where Robert would be. In his room, with Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, guarding his door. He could hear the laughter and moans come out of the door. The faces of the Kingsguard were not at all flushed, unlike other peoples who would have been red with embarrassment.

“I need to see the King.” He said to Jaime Lannister.

“The King is busy.” Jaime Lannister replied, with a cocky grin on his face.

“It is imperative that I see the King, right now.” He said. With those he shoved open the door only to find Robert on his bed, sitting and a whore on his lap, her breasts spilled out of her dress as Roberts suckled at them. The sound of the door made Robert jolt and quickly jerk his head to him. He just gave the woman a glance which told her to leave. The woman put her breasts back in her dress and scurried out of the door, closing the door behind her.

“Seven Fucking Hells Ned, didn’t you see I was busy!” Robert shouted to him.

“Busy suckling the breasts of another woman, like a babe, when you have clearly important things to do.” He shot back. He went and filled two glasses of Arbor Gold and he gave one to Robert.

“I named you Hand to the King. You will rule, while I feast and whore, that’s not up for discussion!” Robert shouted.

“And what about your children?” He asked him.

“My children will the rule after me!” Robert shouted, his face deep red from anger. He emptied the whole glass in one gulp and proceeded to fill another.

“I want you to see someone.” He told to him.

“Who?” Robert’s voice had reduced, his wine cooling, his nerves.

“He is your son. Your eldest son, who happens to be bastard. Jon took care of him until his died.” He told him. Robert looked at him in shock. “He is just like you, wields a hammer and is going to participate in the melee. He worked at Tobho Mott’s smithy on the Street of Steel. I thought that you could take some time to teach him a few things. And his hammer is very creative. The head can be detached from the shaft. Designed and made by himself.” He said to Robert. Robert still sprouted a stunned face.

“My son……. My eldest son.” Robert mumbled. “Take me to see him, Ned.” Robert ordered him. He looked at Robert’s condition.

“You ought to get dressed first, your grace.” He said to him. Robert looked at him and laughed. “I’ll wait outside.” He said and moved out of the door.

“Good lord, Stark. How did you manage to do it?” Jaime Lannister asked him.

“Do what?” he asked the Kingslayer.

“Make Robert forget his whore. Not even Jon Arryn was successful in that.” Jaime Lannister said.

“The Skies don’t reduce the Storm. Ice, it challenges, and it wins.” He said to Lannister.

“Never knew you to be a poet, Stark.” Lannister said.

“Kings Landing changes people.” He said.

“It does.” Lannister said, his smug smile having returned to his face. Remove the smugness, arrogance, and killing the king he swore to protect, Jaime Lannister could be a good companion and was already a proven battle-commander, like Robert, Lord Stannis, and Lord Tywin, to name a few. Robert came out of his door, his hair pulled back, wearing black shirt, breeches, boots and a yellow doublet, with buttons in the shape of stags.

“Come on Ned. Take me to him.” Robert ordered.

“Gladly, your grace.” He told him. When Lannister and Selmy started to move, he ordered them to stay put with a wave of his hand.

They started walking to his chambers in silence, until Robert spoke.

“What is his name?”

“Gendry.”

“A peasant’s name. It will not do. Especially not on a King’s son.” Robert protested.

“You can name him anything you want Robert. At least first meet him.” He said.

“Orys. His name will be Orys Storm, son of King Robert, the first of his name.” Robert said. “None of my ancestors, after the first Baratheon have held that name. I will bestow that name upon my eldest.”

“He will be a Waters. He was born in the Crownlands.” he corrected Robert over the Storm part.

“Your bastard was born in Dorne, right. Yet you named him Snow, instead of Sand.” Robert said, correcting him on Jon’s name. He just kept quiet, until they reached his room. He walked in the room, his eyes greeting the sight of Gendry or Orys as Robert wanted to call him. The lad was wearing black breeches, black boots, black shirt and a grey doublet. The boy looked like a man of the Nights Watch. The bys hammer was in his hand, and his hair, still damp from the bath, stuck to his forehead.

“Lord Stark, I…” But when the lad saw Robert he immediately, bowed, very low. “…Your Grace.” The lad said. I gestured Harwin to move outside the door His guard did so, closing the door behind him and locked it.

“Who is your father lad.” Robert asked, knowing that the boy was his.

“I don’t know, Your Grace. Never knew him and my mother never talked about him.” The lad stated.

“Now, now boy. Look into my eyes and tell me who your father is.” Robert said, on the verge of shouting. The boy unafraid looked into Robert’s eyes.

“I never knew my father, Your Grace.” The boy replied. The boy was clueless.

“I am your bloody father, you fool. Tell me, can’t you see the resemblance?” Robert rounded up on him. Robert was the living example of his house’s words: ‘Ours is the Fury’. The boy on the other hand looked shocked. He certainly hadn’t expected to from working as a blacksmith to becoming the King’s bastard son in a day.

“What is your name?” Robert asked him.

“Gendry.” The boy replied, his voice seemingly not unaffected.

“From now on, you will be Orys Storm, son of King Robert, the first of his name.” Robert said. The boy just nodded. “I know your mother gave you that name, but she didn’t expect this to happen. You are a King’s son and the name Orys hasn’t been gifted to any other Baratheon, bastard or not, since the First Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, until now. You should be honored to carry such an important name.” Robert explained the boy. The lad accepted it without any protests, or he had just learned not to piss off his father and follow orders.

“Does anyone else recognize you by face or name?” Robert asked him.

“Milord...” Orys started but was cut off by Robert.

“My Lord. That is how you speak properly.” Robert corrected him.

“My Lord Hand’s eldest daughter, Lady Sansa, came to Tobho Mott’s shop when I was still working there. She commissioned two daggers. For whom I don’t know.” Orys answered. Sansa, commissioning two daggers? What was she going to go with them? He needed to talk with Sansa.

“Have you made the daggers?” He asked Orys.

“Yes. When you were taking me, I packed them with me. Lady Sansa told me that I should participate in the melee with her help.” Orys answered.

“Give them to me. I’ll talk to my daughter about this and give you the purse for your service.” Orys went up to his pack and brought out the two daggers. The daggers were finely made, of castle forged steel. It had fresh scent about it. The hilt was made for a woman’s hand and was plain with brown leather. The daggers could be easily hidden. “I’ll take my leave then Robert. I need to talk to my daughter.” He said leaving the room. He made his way to Sansa’s room, solely to speak to her about the daggers, and Orys Storm.

**The Dragonwolf Prince**

He had no idea how many days it had been since he had gotten off the ship. He had been unconscious for quite some time after the night of storm. After regaining consciousness, he tried to figure where he was, looking at the red clouds above him, reflected by the volcanoes below him. His throat was parched, and he didn’t know how long he would survive in this godforsaken ocean. He had lost hope in almost everything, all but one thought. To see Daenerys again. The thought kept him going, believing that when he would get to land, he could see her once more. The volcanoes beneath remained inactive, granting him a safe passage to the great island, and ruined city of Valyria. He could see the faint outline of the beaches its beaches. He wished that he would find something on the island to aid him. Something that the Valyrians of the Old might have put under spells. Anything at all would do. Water, food, clothes. Even his connection with Ghost was very low over here, and he couldn’t warg in him to see where Ghost and Dany were. Whatever saliva that came into his mouth, he swallowed to soothe his throat. His whole boat was practically burning from beneath, but he didn’t feel a thing being more tolerant to heat than. He kept looking at the beaches that came in front of him. From midday to near dusk, the shoreline was still in front of him, yet so far away. As more of the beach came into his view, his boat slowly rocked itself forward. The beach was completely cleared of anything. There was no driftwood or signs of what was inland. All he could see were a few black bones, scattered here and there. As the shore neared, he got up and put a bit of pressure on the side of the boat. The wood snapped, his feet sliding into the water. The water was very hot, pain besieged him as he screamed into empty waters. He quickly took his leg out of the water and scratched himself on the wood. He grabbed Blackfyre and got out of the boat on the sand and fell on his arse. He examined his leg. It was angry red in color and he could see blood coming out of the various scratches he had gotten. He folded his breeches so that it wouldn’t burn the scratches and then stumbled along the coast line.

He kept walking as the sun fled west. It seemed as if the coast would never end. Giving up with his first idea, he instead walked straight into the island. The city was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his own life. It gave off its own aura, similar to Winterfell but so different. It was like a homecoming that he had never received. He just wanted to lose himself in the black roads, the black walls, the topless towers, the sphinxes, gargoyles, wyrms and what not. Every decoration was bigger than the previous one, every tower and fortress belonging to someone else. He thought of which of these palaces may the Targaryen’s had occupied in their stay. He knew that Aenar Targaryen, had left Valyria due to the dreams experienced by his daughter, Daenys the Dreamer. If the Doom hadn’t come to Valyria, then maybe, his mother wouldn’t be Lyanna Stark, and he would live here. He didn’t want that. He wanted to have Lyanna Stark as his mother, the She-Wolf of the North. He wanted Eddard Stark and Benjen Stark as his uncles, and he would give anything to have Ghost back in his life again. The great white direwolf was a part of him, someone he couldn’t bear to lose.

He continued his journey down the impressive roads, dodging the sluggish red liquid whenever close to his path. He noticed there were also black rocks that gave off steam, what causing their emissions he did not know. This ruin was once an ancient city where the world’s most powerful people lived. People who didn’t come from the normal stock, easily identified by their striking beauty, silver-gold or platinum hair and eyes the shade of purple. Only his eyes were different from their traits, being a wine shade of purple. A distinctive feature that would make him easily identifiable.

He came across an impressive palace that made Winterfell look like a farmer’s hut. The door was shaped in the form a dragon’s mouth, sharp teeth and glinting and tongue lolling out. Even while looking docile the teeth gave him shivers. The door was guarded by two sphinxes, bigger than him eyes made of cut out emeralds as big as his face, if not bigger. He went inside the mouth, thinking that he was entering the stomach of the fearsome dragon. He kept going until he ended up in a hall. In the hall were fourteen statues, each very big with a pedestal. The statues were unlike anything he had ever seen. They had a scaly body and instead of legs there was a tail on which they stood. The stomach covered with smooth scales, and the breasts were also scaly with nipples in the shape of spikes. what drew his eye was not the Gods of Valyria, even though they were very impressive. His eyes were glued to the lonely figure kneeling in front of a God, praying to it. The figure’s silver-gold hair was unbound, falling like waves touching the floor.

“Daenerys.” He said, his voice choked with emotion and hoarse. The figure turned around. It was her. He could recognize that face anywhere. Dany stood up and looked at him, tears in her eyes

“Jaehaerys!” She cried. Her voice was thick. This was one of the many times she had called him using his first name, otherwise he was just Jae to her, like she was Dany to him. He rushed forward, ignoring rush of pain in his leg, and wrapped his arms around her. She was safe, she was fine, she was with him. He consoled himself.

“Why?” She asked. I was confused by the question. As if knowing I was confused she rephrased her question. “Why did you leave me. You promised me you would not.” She said to him.

“I had no choice Dany. I had to end Viserys. I also have your ring.” He said. With that he took out the ring from his pocket and pressed it into her palm. “I promise, I will never leave you again.” He said, promising to her. With that he pressed his lips to her drinking from them. In the dark ruins of Valyria, the Dragon’s were lost no more.

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

 

[Orys Storm](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/8/81/Gendry_Amoka.png)

[Firewyrms](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/a/a0/Firewyrm_by_Kevin_Catalan.jpg)

[Sphinx](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/4/44/Marc_Fishman_sphinx.jpg)

[Harwin](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/75/JB_Casacop_Harwin.JPG)

[Theon Greyjoy](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/a/a1/Brittmartin_Theon.jpg)

[First Keep: Ground Floor](https://pre00.deviantart.net/bc81/th/pre/f/2018/253/8/9/first_keep__ground_floor_by_airewind-dcmi1u3.png)

 [Orys's Hammer: Melee](https://pre00.deviantart.net/0d39/th/pre/i/2017/339/b/e/gothic_war_hammer___full_length_by_archangelsteelcrafts-d8jq8hb.jpg)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bisa iksis se lenton hen aōha lentor, Daenērys Jelmāzmo. Īlē naejot māzigon kesīr tolī izulagār jēdri: This is the home of the your family, Daenerys Stormborn. You were meant to arrive here after four hundred years.  
> Thanks to My Beta William_the _Conqueror.
> 
> The wave patterns in the First Keep Ground Floor represents the hot water from the springs. Where these are not present the room is cold.


	7. CH7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE QUIET WOLF POV: Five Days after THE QUIET WOLF POV (CH6 Part2)  
> THE IRON STAG POV: Same Day as THE QUIET WOLF POV (CH7)  
> THE DRAGON PRINCESS POV: Same Time as THE DRAGONWOLF PRINCE POV (CH6)  
> THE DRAGONWOLF PRINCE POV: Right after THE DRAGON PRINCESS POV (CH7)  
> THE YOUNG DIREWOLF POV: Four Days After THE YOUNG DIREWOLF POV (CH6)  
> THE LADY DIREWOLF POV: A Day after THE QUIET WOLF POV (CH7)
> 
> The Valyrian Phrases,in the chapter, have been translated in the chapter itself. Do not forget to read it.

**The Quiet Wolf**

The Hand’s Tourney was going to start today. The Melee, then the Joust and then the Archery Competition. He longed to see how Orys Storm would fare in the melee. The day since Robert had seen his son, he had taken well to him. Robert was more involved in sparring with his son that drinking and whoring, though that did not reduce the eight stone that Robert had gained. Robert had told him how Cersei despised his son and wanted him to spend time with his trueborn son instead of his bastard because after all, Joffrey would be King after him and not his bastard. Robert had promptly told her that Joffrey didn’t fight with hammer’s and he was no good with swords. He had ordered the Kingslayer to make Joffrey his squire. When the Young Prince had pompously declared that he didn’t need to be a squire and that he could defeat a knight three years older than him easily. Robert had shouted at him that he had been defeated by Robb Stark easily, and the prince had gone scarlet. Jaime Lannister had taken his nephew into his service but hadn’t been able to beat sense in him. Joffrey was still the same arrogant boy and had made Jaime Lannister’s second squire do everything for him. He also remembered his talk with Sansa about the daggers and Orys and then how Arya had pounded on him and he had told them the truth about Jon.

_He stood in front of the door and rapped on it twice. The door opened and he was greeted by the sight of his eldest daughter who resembled her mother so much. The same red hair, like fire and eyes the lightest colour of blue like the rivers. She wore one of the gowns she had made today, one which could be used for horse riding. No matter how much she looked like her mother he could find the traces of Wolf’s Blood in his children. It seemed all his children had received it, even though he thought Sansa hadn’t, except Jon. Jon might not have received it because of the Dragon’s Blood present in his veins. He knew how Jon could stay longer in the hot springs, Robb had come complaining to him about it, but he had brushed it off by saying that it was natural, and people were born with it._

_“Sansa, I mean to talk to you about something that has come into my notice.” He said. Sansa just opened the door and he allowed himself in._

_“What is it that you want to talk about?” She asked. He just took out the daggers and showed them to her. Her face went red at the thought of being caught and she gave a slight eep. “I’ll kill you Jory.” She muttered but he heard it. He just gave a chuckle._

_“No need to kill Jory. He is loyal to you till now. The man who gave me this is in the Red Keep, in fact, he is the who crafted it.” He said to her. Her face held a nervous expression._

_“Why would a smith be in the Red Keep?” She asked nervously._

_“Why would a lady tell a smith to make two daggers for her?” He questioned her. “You know who the smith is, whose son he is. I can tell it by looking at your eyes.” In reality, he didn’t know if all of this was true. He was just asking aimless questions, hoping to get some answers out of them._

_“You can’t let anything happen to him. The queen will kill him if she knows who he is. She will use poisons and what not. Father, you have to protect him.” She rambled. Robert wouldn’t let anything happen to his son he knew it._

_“Nothing will happen to him. Robert wouldn’t let anything happen to him. He is with him in my quarters.” He assured her. She just nodded. “You must know one more thing. His name was Gendry. Robert didn’t like it so he changed his name to Orys Storm. Remember that. Robert wouldn’t want you to hear you call Orys by that name. Get it.” He asked her. She nodded again. Suddenly the door of the room burst open revealing his youngest daughter, her tunic dirty her breeches wet till her calves and smelling of shit and piss._

_“Father, Father we need to talk. I went in some dungeon or something like that and there were dragon skulls kept over there. The skulls of the likes of Balerion, Vhagar, and  Meraxes. There were two people, one was fat I think. They talked about some Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and our Aunt Lyanna. They said something about direwolves and lions being at war.” Arya rambled. Jaehaerys Targaryen, he was pale after hearing that name. Jon was alive but as Jaehaerys Targaryen. It didn’t matter to him, he was alive and he was happy at that. “They said that they were going to kill you like the previous hand but one man said that you were not like the others and you had no interest in playing the game.” She whispered it at the end. “Which game father?” Arya asked innocently. He very well knew that which game they talked about. The Game of Thrones. He went and closed the door and barred it. The children needed to know the truth about Jon._

_“I need you both to listen very carefully. This is something that shouldn’t leave this door. You can tell no one about this.” He warned them forehand. “Jon is Jaehaerys Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and your aunt Lyanna Stark. I brought him to Winterfell because he was my blood and Robert had allowed the killing of Aegon and Rhaenys. Any son of Rhaegar would pose a threat against him so I hid him and gave him the name Jon Snow. A bastard’s ridiculed life was given to a prince of the realm, one of the last people in the world who carried the blood of dragonlords.” He said and looked at the faces of his children. Their mouths were open in shock and were staring at him in silence._

_“But the fat one said that Jaehaerys looks like a Targaryen. Jon looks like a Stark, like me. How can he change his appearance.” Arya asked with a curious expression on her face. I just shrugged at her question._

_“Why didn’t you tell us?” Sansa’s voice came into his ears. “I treated Jon so horribly for the past few years. Mother did that. You could have at least told her.” Sansa said, angry._

_“I couldn’t tell anyone, fearing for the heads of my family. The only person who knows is Howland Reed and he will not tell it to anyone.” He said, expressing his reasons._

_“Is this what you told Jon before you left. When you took him into the crypts?” Arya asked._

_“Yes. He had the right to know who he was before he took such a decision, of wiping out a whole family. He needed to know the truth about his mother. About his dragon’s blood.” He said to them._

_“Dragon’s blood?” Sansa and Arya simultaneously questioned._

_“Yes. Dragon’s blood. House Targaryen coined the term for all its members having better resistance against heat. Jon showed his when he and Robb used to go and take a dip in the hot springs.” He explained._

_“So that is what is Dragon’s Blood.” Arya muttered. He just nodded at it._

_“Come on Arya, now that your curiosity is sated it is time that you have a bath.” He said to Arya. “ And don’t speak to anyone about this. This is a matter between the Stark family, no one else should know it.” He said. The girls bobbed their head, assuring him that they would not say anything to anyone. Arya came with him and he told one of the guards to tell someone to bring water into Lady Arya’s room. He escorted Arya to her room and then made way to his own hoping that Robert would have been finished by now._

Currently, he was on the tourney grounds. They were filled with various banners of the Houses of Westeros great and small. He could spot out the Stark and Baratheon banners beside each other and the Lannister banners beside the Baratheon ones. He could also see the Arryn banners and the banners of House Royce. The banners of House Tyrell and House Tully were also hard not to miss. Beside the banners of the most prominent Houses of Westeros, except Targaryen and Martell, he could see the other banners flocking around them.

He had sent Jory to Ser Hugh but the knight was not present there. He had sent him again, after three days and Jory had told him that the knight didn’t know anything about his lord’s death. When Jory had asked who knighted him, the recently knighted Ser had just shown him a document bearing Lord Arryn’s signature that he was declared a knight. Walking on the tourney grounds which were being tilled, before the tourney started, he met Ser Barristan Selmy.

Ser Barristan Selmy was an accomplished knight and was Lord-Commander of Robert’s Kingsguard. Had Bran lived he would’ve asked Ser Barristan to take him as his squire. Ser Barristan was getting his white cloak of the Kingsguard getting fixed by his squire.

“Ser Barristan.” He called out the elderly knight.

“Lord Stark.” Ser Barristan greeted him.

“It’s good to see you. Participating in the tourney are you?” He asked.

“Aye.” Ser Barristan said. “It’s strange that not so many years ago we fought as enemies on the Trident. You rode with the leader of the Rebels and I served another King. Though he was not a good one.”

“I’m glad we never met on the field Ser Barristan.” He said. “As is my wife. I don’t think a widow’s life would suit her.” He said. And he wouldn’t meet his son and Lyanna’s son, he said in his mind. Ser Barristan just laughed.

“You are too modest. I’ve seen you cut down a dozen great knights, including Ser Arthur Dayne.” Ser Barristan said. No, He said to himself. Howland Reed stabbed him in the back. He could still remember Dawn above him, the greatsword shining like day, while Ice lay afar, that greatsword shining like night. The blood of Arthur Dayne on his breastplate, as Howland stabbed Arthur in the back to save him. He cleared his head of it. They kept walking and walking. He could see the various tents propped alongside the river. In different colours. Gold, Silver, Blue, Orange, and many more. The event was a very bright one no doubt.

“My father once told me that you were the best he had ever seen.” He said to Ser Barristan and it was true. Lord Rickard Stark was a man who knew a great deal about combat and when he told a person the somebody was better, a man was foolish not to believe him. “I’ve never known my father to be a bad judge of combatants.”

“He was a fine man, your father. What the Mad King did to him was a terrible crime.” Ser Barristan said. It always came down to the burning of his father and the strangling of his brother.

“That lad,” He said pointing his thumb to indicate the lad, the recently knighted Ser Hugh, whom he had just seen wearing a new piece of armour, and desperate to change the topic, “He was a squire until a few months ago, how could he afford a new piece of armor. That also from Tobho Mott’s shop.” Tobho Mott’s shop had become quite famous ever since it had been discovered that Orys Storm used to work there. Orys had become very popular, partly due to his hammer and partly due to the strong Baratheon looks that the boy possessed. The boy had beaten squires and squires from many great houses with his hammer and the new stag helmet, one which Robert had ordered Tobho Mott to be made, that he wore. People had secretly started calling him ‘Iron Stag’.

“Perhaps Lord Arryn left him some money.” Ser Barristan said. Yes, that could be the case. Perhaps that was the only case because he couldn’t see a lad like that kill his own lord. “I hear that the king wants to compete in the melee today against his son.”

“Yes. That will never happen.” He said to Ser Barristan.

“Robert tends to do what he wants.” Ser Barristan laughed.

“If King got what he wanted all the time, we would still be fighting a bloody rebellion.” He said to Ser Barristan.

“Lord Stark. I just want you to know that Rhaegar was not a monster. He loved your sister. Her’s was the last name on his lips.” Ser Barristan said.

“Aye, I know he loved my sister. He loved my sister like Robert never would and Lyanna loved him. Them eloping fueled Robert’s ego. I came to fight partly because I wanted to see the Mad king dethroned because of what he did to my father and brother and partly because I wanted to hear it from Lyanna’s own mouth that she had gone off with Rhaegar. I heard that, but my sister died shortly after that.” He said. With that, he moved away already having divulged a great secret to the man, but he knew the man to be one of honour and the and the man still supported the Targaryens’.

He walked along the coast until he came upon a golden coloured tent with crowned black stags upon it. Robert had said that he wanted to live with the competitors and not in the fucking keep. He was the king and he got what he wanted, but there were somethings that Robert would never get. Especially not now, like participating in a melee.

He walked into the tent to see Robert standing up there his arms open wide as a boy tried to fit him into his armour. The armour was, of course, elaborate, golden in colour with black antlers on it.

“It’s made too small your grace, it won’t go.” The boy said.

“Your mother was a dumb whore with a fat arse. Did you know that?” Robert said angrily. The boy took out the armour. “Look at this idiot. One ball and no brains. He can’t even put a man’s armour on him properly.” Robert said. The boy was shit scared, he could see it.

“You’re too fat for your armour.” He said to Robert. Robert turned to him.

“Fat. Fat is it. Is that how you speak to your king.” Robert said. He knew what was going to come after that. Robert gave a throaty laugh and he joined in. Robert looked at the boy beside him. He too looked at him closely. Blond hair, green eyes. The boy was a Lannister. The boy too gave a smile. “Oh! It’s funny is it.” Robert exclaimed seriously. The boy’s expression changed within a matter of seconds.

“No your grace.” The boy said.

“No. Is it. You don’t like the Hands joke?” Robert asked the boy rhetorically.

“Stop torturing the poor boy.” He said to Robert.

“You heard the Hand. the kings too fat for his armour. Go find the breastplate stretcher.” Robert shouted to the boy. The boy hastily dropped the armour and started to move out. “Now.” Shouted Robert after him. Robert laughed after the boy went. He couldn’t help but join him.

“The breastplate stretcher?” He curiously asked. Robert picked up his glass of Dornish Red. One thing Robert Baratheon never failed to have was wine. He could drink day in and day out and he would still be drinking it.

“How long before he figures it out?” Robert asked.

“Maybe you should’ve one invented.” He said.

“All right, all right. You watch me out there. I can still swing my hammer.” Robert said, taking a sip from his glass.

“You have no business in the Melee.” He said.

“Why? Because I’m King. Piss on that. I want to hit somebody.” Robert said, his face turning red.

“And who is going to hit you back?” He asked.

“Anybody who can and the last man in his saddle-” Robert continued to say, but he cut him off.

“ -Will be you. There is not a man in the Seven Kingdoms who will dare to hit you.” He said.

“You’re saying that those cravens would let me win?” Robert asked, his voice dangerously low.

“Aye.” He answered. Robert proceeded to fill wine in one of the empty glasses that he had. Robert held the wine glass towards him. “You can watch your son beat many of them in the melee. I’m sure that would give you satisfaction.” He said.

“Drink,” Robert said.

“I’m not thirsty.” He replied.

“Drink your King commands it,” Robert said, his voice commanding. He took the glass from Robert and took a sip of the Dornish Red. The wine was spicy and sweet at the same time, adding an odd taste to his tongue. Robert sat on his cot. “Gods……… Too fat for my armour.” Robert said slowly.

“You’re squire. A Lannister boy?” He asked Robert.

“Hmmm….. Bloody idiot, but Cersei insisted. Lancel and Tyrek Lannister. Her cousins.” Robert said. “I’ve Jon Arryn to thank for her. Cersei Lannister will make a good match, he told me. It’ll lead her father under your side.” Robert said trying to imitate Jon Arryn, but he failed miserably. “I thought being king meant I could do what I wanted.” He said. He stood up and slammed the glass on the table. “Come on. Let’s go and watch the melee. At least I can smell someone else’s blood.”

“Robert.” He said.

“What?” Robert asked. He just looked down at Robert’s open belly. Robert followed my line of sight and laughed as he looked upon his nude, bloated stomach. “An inspiring sight for the people. Bow before your King, bow you shits.” Robert said and he howled again with laughter. “Go on Ned. I’ll come back wearing some clothes and see my son beat some arse out there.” Robert said. He walked to the opening of the tent and Robert clapped him on the back. He just moved out, keeping his eyesight on the stands looking of either, Sansa, Arya or Septa Mordane. He found Arya sitting over there, in a pretty grey dress, but he could see the dirty hem of the dress. Arya would always be the same, no matter what. He searched for Sansa but his eyes couldn’t find her. He gave up knowing that she would come as he walked to the stands.

**The Iron Stag**

His life right now was something that he had never imagined. He was sitting on his cot, in the tent that he had been assigned. Beside his cot was his own made hammer. It was a beautiful piece of work, especially since the whole thing had been made in under two weeks. He thought about everything that had happened to him until now.

At first, he was nobody until he started to work in Tobho Mott’s shop. All he remembered about his mother was her yellow hair and her sweet voice. It was in the past few months that special people had taken interest in him. First came Lord Jon Arryn, then came Sansa Stark, then Lord Eddard Stark and after that came the King himself, who was his father. He was called Gendry all his life, a no name, with no father and mother, then suddenly his whole life was ripped apart. He was to be made into Orys Storm, King Robert Baratheon’s son. He had to read and write. He had to learn how to speak properly, to different people at different times. He had to face the queen and the ingrate shit named Joffrey. He had to learn how to dance because he was going to take part in the Hands Tourney and in the feasts where people would dance and he would have at least ask some of the ladies to dance with him. The studies were altogether not bad and he learned a lot from it. He learned arithmetic and science and a whole new world of things but the best thing he liked to was to swing his hammer in the ring, learning from his father the art of war and single combat. He liked to beat the squires that had come and liked the simple talks he had with Sansa Stark. Sansa, she had given him permission to use her name after had called her ‘Lady Sansa’ for almost a day, and they were pretty close, after all, they were staying in the same castle and Lord Stark had offered him to stay in the Hands tower. Many times he could also see Sansa at the base of Father’s or the Mother’s statue in the Great Sept of Baelor.

The melee was going to start in some time. He had to get ready in the newly made armour that his father had gifted him. He stood up and looked at his newly minted armour. The cuirass was black with a golden stag on it representing his father’s house and his bastard status. He took out the greaves and schynbalds and wore them on his leg and shins respectively. Next, he attached spurs to his boots and then he wore them. Then came the skirt, the cuirass, the rondels, the gorget, and the covering from his wrist to his elbow. He wore leather gloves on his hand and then picked up his hammer. On the other side of his bed was the famous bullhead helm that he had made and alongside it was the stag helm that his father had given to him. The flaps of the tent opened and he saw Sansa come in, she had some kind of cloth in her hand. He quickly stood up.

“Sansa.” He greeted.

“Orys.” She said to him.

“What brings you here?” He asked her. He could see a faint rise of red in her cheeks.

“I, uh…. I wanted to give you this.” She said, nervous. She handed him the piece of cloth. It was pure white with a grey direwolf on it. The sigil of her house, he recognized. “This…… is my……. Favour. Hope you win Gen-, sorry, Orys.” She stammered. Despite her attempt to hide her fault in calling him Gendry, he could catch on it. She turned around and went towards the flap.

“Sansa.” He said after her. She quickly turned around, stepping on the hem of her dress, on the process of falling but she balanced herself. He clutched the favour in his hand showed it to her. “Thank You.” He said to her. He could see the heat rise up in her cheeks and he smiled at it. She looked like a ripe tomato by the end of it and rushed outside. He chuckled at her antics.

He took out the glove from his left hand and tied the favour in the hand, albeit with a lot of difficulty. He then wore the glove back.

“Lord Orys, the melee is going to start in ten minutes. All participants are advised to come to the line in five.” A young boy said as he rushed in the tent. He nodded at the news and the boy went out of the tent. He had told many people countless times not to call him Lord Orys, even the Queen, whom he detested, had helped him in that.

He took the stag helmet from the table, the helmet being black, bearing gilded horns, and tucked it under his arm. He lifted his hammer above his shoulder and walked out of the tent. He saw his beautiful white charger which he had not named, owing to the philosophy of  Duncan the Tall, in which he said ‘The best people do not name their horses, for it becomes easy to bear the pain of their loss.’

“Hey boy.” He said as he petted the beautiful charger that Ser Barristan had made him buy from the money that Lord Stark had given him for the two daggers. The charger had a black saddle and chanfron. The charger neighed at it. He gave a laugh at it.

“Are you ready?” A voice came from behind. He turned around and saw Ser Barristan Selmy, in his gleaming white armour and cape, his hand on the pommel of the sword.

“I’m ready Ser Barristan.” He assured the old man.

“Take care of yourself in the field.” Ser Barristan said. He nodded at it. The old man patted him on the back. “ Best of Luck.” The old man said.

“Thank you.” He said back. He planted the hammer on the ground, wore the stag helm and mounted the horse. Ser Barristan handed him the hammer and he took it. He rode off to the grounds five minutes prior to the start as he had been told to do.

He saw various participants waiting there, the most prominent being Lord Yohn Royce, in his bronze breastplate that was carved with the ancient runes of the first men and Thoros of Myr a red priest, who used to drink and whore more than he used to preach. He could see his father sitting on his Kingly seat that had been erected. Beside him sat the Queen and her three children. They were guarded by Ser Mandon Moore and Ser Preston Greenfield. He could also see the Stark household sitting on the stands. Arya was waving excitedly at him and Sansa was smiling. He just nodded towards them.

“Start the damn melee.” His father shouted. The effect was instantaneous and rippling. All the people that were participating in the melee, including himself, rushed forward like madmen and started swinging their weapons. The first person he encountered swung his morningstar towards him but he blocked it with his shield. He swung his hammer and the hammer connected with the man’s jaw, his shield coming up a bit late, and the man fell to the ground. He saw two boys come and drag the man out of the stadium, constantly avoiding the horses. He spurred his charger forward and went on hitting and blocking and this went on for quite a long time. All the time during his charge he didn’t perceive any threat from the back. A mace connected with his helm and his head rang from the impact as he saw stars around himself. He swung his hammer back in a dizzy state and tried to hit his attacker. Instead, he heard the horse neigh in pain. _I hit the horse_ , he thought as the horse fell down. He took out his helmet, his hair damp with sweat. The man that he had hit had a shield with the insignia of House Frey. He got down from his horse and pulled the man from beneath the horse. The man offered a weak smile before he blacked out.

He heard a guttural cry and he quickly turned. There was Thoros of Myr, with his cheap sword covered with wildfire. His robes the red of the priests of R’hllor and his charger, a tan one, with a red saddle and straps. He held his hammer tightly in his grip as he waited. Just as Thoros came in his range he swung his hammer, clumsily, in an upper arc trying to hit the bald man who wore no helmet. Thoros leaned to the other side, dodging the clumsy blow and swung his sword. He blocked the blow with his shield and Thoros let out another blow and he dodged that or at least tried to as the sword clanged on his shoulder plate.

“It ain’t fair to fight you on a horseback is it, boy,” Thoros said with a smug expression. Thoros got down from his horse and attacked him fervently his blows landing in his shield or his hammer. Trying to find a blind spot he was hit on his head with the pommel of Thoros’ sword. All he saw was blackness and flashes of green and red. He swung his hammer thinking he had hit Thoros and then promptly collapsed due to the blow to his head.

**The Dragon Princess**

Euphoria coursed inside her when Jae pressed his lips to her lips. She kissed him back her hands entwining around his neck while he pulled her closer keeping a firm grip on her hips her breasts brushing against his chest through the thin covering of her gown and his shirt. They only broke apart to take in the air, after the kissing for a minute or two, their foreheads joined and lips mere centimetres away.

“I missed you.” She said, tears streaming down her face.

“Shh……” Jae consoled her. “I’m here Dany, nothing will happen to you.” he brushed the tears off her face. “And Dragons don’t cry.” Jae said in a condescending tone. She just chuckled at it and sniffed back her tears.

“Better?” She asked. Jae took a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.

“Much better.” Jae said and kissed her again but this one was short. “This is an amazing find we have. The only building in Valyria that withstood the doom and you have been here for more days than I. Care to show me what is hidden in here Dany.” Jae said. She hid her blush from him. She had been so scared that she had not at all seen anything in the massive palace at all, except the gods of her race.

“I didn’t go on an adventure looking for what was there or not Jae.” She mumbled so low that nobody could hear it.

“What was that? I think I didn’t hear you correctly, Dany.” Jae said, seriously.

“I said, that I didn’t go on an adventure for what was there or not Jae.” She spoke loud and clear. There was faux horror etched on his face.

“What?” He almost shouted. “You didn’t see a thing in this bloody mansion, which is way bigger that Winterfell, except the gods. The first thing Robb and I would do was tear this place down brick by brick to find out all its hidden secrets.” He said. There were moments like this that she envied Jae, He had a loving family all the time. His uncle ready to raise him as his own son, against his best friend. His cousin, whom he thought as a brother, a sister whose place no one could take in his heart, not even her. She felt a jerk on her hand and she came back to this world. “ Come on,” Jae said, tugging her hand.

“Where?” She asked.

“To tear this thing down brick by brick to find a place where we can take a bath.” Jae said.

“Eager aren’t you Jae to look at your aunt nude.” She teased. Jae stopped and his face became red.

“Um…. No. I-We smell really bad Dany. I thought it would be good if we take a bath.” Jae stammered. She wanted to kiss him badly in his flustered state but she also wanted to tease him a bit more.

“Huh. I really thought that you wanted to see me nude after that passionate kiss we shared. Guess I was wrong.” She said and she tched at him and touched his cheek affectionately. Jae was red as a tomato now.

“Stop teasing me, woman.” Jae gritted out of his teeth. “You don’t know the things I want to do with you,” Jae said. She leaned in and pressed herself to him, his obvious erection grinding on her pussy. _Damn it, it feels good_ , she thought.

“Keep your ideas to yourself Jaehaerys Targaryen. Right now we ought to find a pool and then in the night, this hot voluptuous body of mine, that is pressing against you is yours.” She whispered seductively in his ear, even though there was no one. By the end of it, she could feel Jae’s ‘uncomfortability’ in him wearing his breeches. She didn’t wait to look at his face because she knew how it would be, red and beads of sweat on his forehead, and grabbed his hand and they crossed the Gods of Valyria to find a pool to bathe in.

The way they were going to the pool, which they were not sure of, was decorated fabulously. It showed everything about the Valyrians. Their power, their godliness, their dragons. In short, it was beautiful, the paintings would be sought out just like valyrian steel. The walls were made of fused black stone, the impressions made on it were so real and it didn’t feel like it was cut. Of course, it was not cut, Valyrians used sorcery on the stones, she had read but she had been sceptical about it. Looking at them removed her doubts. She looked at Jae noticing his expression. His eyes were filled with awe and wonder and his face was not red and his erection had snuffed out. She giggled at the words that she had said to Jae and found herself blushing at them too. She was too focused on her thoughts that she didn’t see the door that they had encountered.

The door like any other in the whole city, probably, was carved in the shape of a dragon. The Dragon was made of the same fused black stone, its eyes deep red in colour, the same as Ghost’s. The door was sealed, with no handles to open it and no key slot, instead there were two palm-shaped areas, which on closer inspection, had small spikes on it. She tried pushing it to no avail.

“Blasted door. How the fuck are we supposed to open it.” She cursed and kicked the door.

“Dany stop. This door was made by Valyrians, not Andals. There is probably something needed to open it.” Jae said. What! What was needed to open the blasted door? Jae went closer to the door and inspected the palm slides. “They’ve put palm slides instead keyholes or handles. Everything in here seems to be made of sorcery and Valyrian sorcery was rooted in two things: Fire and Blood. We don’t have fire and fused stone doesn’t burn so the only thing left is blood.” Jae muttered.

“The door needs Valyrian blood to open itself?” She asked. Jae nodded at it. “Well, it seems it is our lucky day. There are two Valyrian’s right outside.”

“Come here and press one of your palms, it will sting a bit because it needs a bit of blood.” Jae said. Dany did as she was told while Jae pressed his palm on the other slide. There was a prickly sensation and her blood seemed to flow from the tips of her fingers and the sides of her palm. Soon there was a hissing sound and both of them fell forward, their combined weight pushing the door open. Inside was one of the most beautiful bathrooms she had ever seen. The bathroom was made of the same black stone, with a massive bathtub carved in the centre. The privy was to one side with a washbasin on the other. There were stands kept on both sides which could be lightened up with fire and the matches were kept near the stand nearest to the door. Thankfully none of them had the dragon themes that dominated the house.

“Wow!” She exclaimed.

“I agree with you on this. This is one of the most fabulous bathrooms that I have ever seen.” Jae said. Jae went to the side and picked up the matches and started lightning the stands. The fire illuminated the room and the walls reflected the light beautifully.

“What are you doing?” She asked Jae.

“We are going to take a bath, aren’t we. So I was just lightening up the place so we could have a proper bath as the Valyrians did four hundred years ago.” Jae answered.

“I don’t think it will be good if we take a bath in this pool.” She said, expressing her concern.

“Why?” Jae asked.

“Well for one, this place is four hundred years old, then how is this water still here, steam rising from it. How is it that only this palace was left and everything was destroyed?” She asked. Jae just shrugged.

“This place was preserved by blood magic. This place wanted itself to be found. This place is our salvation on this island until we get off it. This place contains secrets that have not been found after the doom. This place is our home Dany. This place is the home of our ancestors” Jae said. “Come on now, we smell a lot.” Jae said as he sniffed himself and closed the door and started to open his shirt. She had never really seen Jae’s body with a sexual mind and now when she saw it she could say that he was very beautiful. Lean body, hard and taut stomach, well-defined pectorals and shoulders, strong biceps and triceps he had everything. Jae proceeded to open his breeches and she felt the heat rush to her face. She had never seen a man naked and this was the first time she was even bathing with one. She was glad that it was Jae, with whom she was indulging in these things. When Jae kicked aside his breeches she saw him in all his glory and she knew that she looked like a tomato. Nothing about Jaehaerys Targaryen could be described ugly. Firm ass cheeks, long cock with silver hair above it, hard thighs, and strong calves. Her mind pushed in some very lustful images of them fucking together and she felt herself heat up, head to toe at those images.

“Your turn.” Those words brought her out of her reverie. Jae had an obvious smirk on his face which had obviously come from her staring at his naked body.

“You’re very beautiful.” She blurted immediately and blushed at it. Jae’s eyebrows rose up, nearly touching his hairline.

“Your very welcome _dārilaros_ , but it is your turn.” Jae said in an alluring voice. She moved her hand brushed it against the buttons of her gown and started unbuttoning them. Soon all the buttons were unbuttoned and then she bent down to catch the hem of her dress and slowly removed it, all with the intent to tease Jae. soon her gown was on one side of the room and she was bare before Jae. she nervously looked at his face and was pleased to see that he had a face of shock and when she looked down she was not surprised to see his manhood standing proudly. “You’re beautiful than the Goddess of Love.” Jae said. She blushed at the comment. Jae came and stood beside her and held her hand, “Together?” He asked.

“Together.” She answered. They walked near the edge and dived into the pool. The water hit her, hard and fast and she went down and down in the neverending pool. Visions swarmed her mind, hitting her fast, she is unable to decipher anything. Finally, the visions seemed to slow down and she watched each one carefully.

_She was on the back of her dragon Terrax, above the now known island of Valyria. Valyria prior to its destruction was beautiful, a whole landmass and not fragmented. She could see the other dragonlords coming and going and the various palaces, far bigger than the one she was in currently. Terrax swooped down and she landed on the black stone path right in front of the palace that she lived in. She entered the palace and was greeted by the familiar sight of the Gods of Valyria in front of her. Kneeling in front of the statues were three people. A woman, a girl, and a boy. The woman was most probably the mother of the two children. The boy tried to sneak out of the room but was caught by the mother._

_“Gaemon Targaryen, you will sit down till the prayers end.” The mother scolded. Targaryen. The name revolved in her mind. These were her ancestors, her family, her home. Jaehaerys and she had landed in the family home of Targaryens in the ruins of Valyria. Suddenly the girl, a maiden by the way she looked, gasped and immediately ran to another direction. She followed her there and saw as she ended up on a black door. The door, as soon as it came in contact with her hand, opened and she let herself inside._

_Inside the room was very warm and brightly illuminated. In the front there was a desk and on the desk sat a man with Valyrian features. By the way, this room looked, this probably had to be a solar._

_“What happened Daenys?” The father questioned. With the additional piece of information and the time setting, she identified it as the time when Daenys the  Dreamer told her father, Aenar Targaryen, that the Doom would fall on Valyria._

_“A cataclysm will fall on our lands and none would be safe from it unless they remove themselves from this place as far as possible.” Daenys said. Aenar seemed to be in great thought and then he finally answered._

_“We will leave the lands of our ancestors with all our dragons and most of our possessions. We will retire to the westernmost outpost and we will take our loyal bannermen of Houses  Velaryon and Celtigar.” Aenar answered. Daenys seemed relieved by this and went away. The scene dissolved into mist._

_She was now standing in front of another Valyrian man. His head was bowed and his sword unsheathed. Around her were many men and women standing there and waiting for her to speak._

_“I now proclaim Aegon of the House Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” She said as she placed a circlet of Valyrian Steel studded with five big rubies. This was Aegon the Conqueror’s coronation._

_Next, she was on some hill, on a dragon who was spewing dragonfire on the soldiers. Gusts of wind and heavy droplets of rain fell on her face. She could see a man, black of hair, wielding a greatsword cutting down men left and right. She remembered this battle after all the singers never seemed to describe it more lively. It was the Last Storm, the battle which made Baratheon’s the ruler of the Stormlands._

_Now she was on her dragon Terrax, high above the ground. She could see a massive lake and a monstrous castle, whose five towers were like candles with melted wax stuck on its side. She saw two other dragons, one was monstrous in size, black in colour so very familiar to Terrax, the other one, however, was quarter the size of the black dragon. The black dragon grabbed the throat of the silver dragon and tore off its wing. Both the rider and dragon, the silver one, fell from the clouds. This was the battle between Maegor I Targaryen and Aegon Targaryen, Son of Aenys I Targaryen. The scene dissolved into another one and she was in an unfamiliar castle, but looking at the massive and hideous Iron Throne in front of her she knew the castle to be the Red Keep. Atop the throne was a King, richly dressed in the Targaryen colours, Black and Red, with blood pouring out of the several wounds he had. This was the end of Maegor I Targaryen or Maegor the Cruel as men called him. The scene too dissolved._

_She was again in the same room of the Red Keep, the only difference being that there was sunlight streaming in instead of moonlight. In front of her was an extremely fat man, who had the Targaryen hair and eyes and was wearing an elaborate crown. In front of the man, obviously, a King was a boy, no older than twelve. The King held the sword Blackfyre and knighted the boy and bestowed the ancient sword upon him. This was Aegon IV Targaryen or, Aegon the Unworthy, knighting his son Daemon Waters, who then adopted the name Blackfyre._

_She was now on the banks of the Gods Eye. There was a man with silver hair laying there with two women. The one on the left was a Dornish and the one on the right was a  Northerner. This was her brother Rhaegar and his two wives, Elia of House Martell and Lyanna of House Stark. There was a little girl, fully Valyrian, playing with a Kingsguard knight and Elia had a visibly swollen bump. The bump obviously contained her nephew Aegon and Lyanna was probably pregnant by the time with Jae. Her heart soared at seeing her brother happy._

_She was again on Terrax, very, very close to the trident. A war was going on. There were Stark, Arryn, and Baratheon banners on one side. The other side solely contained Targaryen Banners. She could see the gleaming white armour and cape of the Kingsguard, soiled with gore and mud. At a distance, she saw two people fighting. One was wearing a black armour with a three-headed red dragon, made of rubies, fitted on it, carrying a longsword. The other man was wearing a back and golden armour with an antler helmet. This was Robert Baratheon. She saw as Robert Baratheon’s hammer smashed against her brother’s chest, flat side, and his rubies fell into the river like raindrops of blood._

_She was now again in the throne room, but it was her father sitting on the Iron Throne. Her father had long silver-gold hair that fell to his hair in wild tangles and a matted long beard. His nails were cracked yellow and more like claws. He had various nicks on his arms and legs and he wore the very elaborate crown of Aegon the Unworthy. In front of the Iron Throne was a man of sixteen, with hair spun like gold and eyes that shone like emeralds. She would, of course, know this man, after all, he had gained his nickname ‘Kingslayer’ after he had killed her father. This was Jaime Lannister._

_“Burn Them All! Burn Them All!” He screamed. She could see the murdering cold look in Jaime Lannister’s eyes and at that moment she too wanted to kill her father. “Rossart. Ignite the Wildfire. Burn Them All!” His father half-ordered and half-cackled. The man named Rossart started walking but she saw Jaime Lannister abandon his post and give a rundown to Rossart. Rossart ran but Jaime Lannister caught up to him and opened him from belly to neck, blood splattering on the pretty white armour. She saw her father trying to run away but Jaime Lannister again came and this time he slashed at his king. She saw her father fall down humbled, but he tried to get up and most probably run. This time Jaime Lannister stabbed him in the back and the Targaryen dynasty ended with its last king on the floor stabbed in the back by his own Kingsguard._

She gripped the edges of the bath and pulled herself up, breathing heavily. She took in a huge gulp of air and looked around the pool. No one was there. Jae was not there. She went inside the pool not bothering with what had just happened to her and was surprised to find that the pool did not show her any more visions. _Maybe it works its magic only one time on a person_ , she thought. Jae was sitting on the floor of the pool, curled up like a newborn baby. She swam towards him trying to reach him but something kept her out as if it was some kind of force field that was preventing her from entering the place. Suddenly the field disappeared and she entered to see Jaehaerys looking at her with his beautiful wine coloured eyes. He shot up to surface and she followed.

“Well, that was a nice history lesson.” Jae remarked snarkily. “Though I don’t know as to why they did not mention what will happen if we go into the pool.”

“I think they might have mentioned it somewhere. You were just very eager to get into the bath with me.” Jae smiled cheekily at her and blushed at the comment.

“Well, however nice the history lesson about the Starks’ and Targaryens’ may have been it was not appreciated. I really wanted to know you a bit more.” Jae teased her. She blushed at the comment.

“I did see how well you wanted to know me when I opened my clothes.” She shot back. Jae gave her an amusing smile. “Well I’ve had a long bath and I don’t fancy staying inside the water so long,” She held up her and examined her fingers, “ it makes my skin wrinkle and makes me look old.” She told Jae. She swam through the water and came upon the door side of the pool. She pushed herself up and, offering Jae a perfect view of her ass, as she climbed out of the pool. She let her curly, long, wet, hair, which touched the base of her spine stay loose and didn’t wear her clothes. She walked to the door and, giving her hips an extra sway, and opened the door. She motioned Jae to follow her and walked out of the door.

**The Dragonwolf Prince**

_Damn_ , he thought. Daenerys Targaryen was as perfect as a woman could be. The invitation did not miss him even with the extra sway that she gave to her perfect, little ass. He swam across and hurriedly got out of the pool, not wanting to lose her view and followed her in both how she went and where she went. He could see the footsteps made from the water that she had not dried off herself and followed them. The walls were covered with burning candles. Then he saw Dany at a distance, with her hair reflecting the fire beautifully, and he quietly moved and grabbed her from the back and lifted her off the floor, swinging her in circles.

“Jae, stop. Stop, please.” Dany pleaded, with peals of laughter emerging from her stomach.

“No. You and I have some unfinished business.” He growled into her ear. He put her down and gently pushed her, her back against the wall and closed the distance, standing a hair’s breadth away from her. He could see the flames of the candles reflecting from her eyes making them shine in an unearthly glow. He could the uneasy rise and fall of her throat. He leaned forward and kissed her passionately. He could feel his erection poking into her belly. Daenerys returned his kisses with equal passion, both of them trying to dominate over the other. He nibbled on her lower lip asking for entrance and she happily granted it. He moved his tongue into her mouth and tasted her. _She tastes like peaches_ , he thought. He tried to exert his dominance, but Dany not to be outdone unleashed the full of her tongue on his one and they were locked into a battle between tongues, which he soon won. He grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him, both of them pitting like puzzle pieces. He broke the kiss and started to kiss her jawline, eliciting moans from her. He went down and down on the side of her throat and suckled on her pulse point.

“Oh…..Jae. Don’t stop. Please. Don’t. Stop.” Dany said, punctuating every word carefully.

“As you wish my lady.” He said and went back to his job of sucking on her pulse point. He moved back up and claimed her lips again and attacked her ferociously. Her hands went up in his hair, her silken fingers slowly massaging my scalp and sometimes grabbing it. He too grabbed her long hair and pulled it down, exposing her throat to my mercy. He went down, down her throat, to the valley between her breasts. He slowly kissed, suckled and bit her there as she moaned his name into his ear in a sensual way.

“Jae……. if we really are…….. Oh, Jorrāelagon! Yes right there……... going to have sex then………. I want it to be on a bed…………. and not propped up on a wall.” Dany said, half moaning and half pleading. He left the valley of her breasts alone and raised his head to look directly into her eyes. They were dark, almost black, filled with lust and love and he had no doubt that his eyes were in the same condition.

“ Jorrāelagon?” He asked.

“The god/goddess of  love.” She answered, breathing heavily.

“And where are we supposed to find a bed?” He asked.

“Well this place has a pool and a privy, then it will most probably have a bed, Jae. Stop being so silly.” She mocked him. He growled at her for calling him silly. “As much as I hate to break this up, we really need to find a bed.” She said.

“Fine.” He relented and grabbed her hand to walk to where ever the hallway took them. After walking for a few minutes they encountered a door, which looked somewhat same to the door to the pool. Like the pool door, we had to press our palms onto the slots and the door clicked open. Inside the candles were already lit revealing a massive library. The shelves reflected the light from the candles gleaming like polished wood. The library had huge shelves, with tomes and scrolls pouring out of it. Many were littered on the table kept over there. He went over to the table and picked up one of the books kept over there.

 _‘Udra hen Perzys’_ , it was called. He opened the book to see many small phrases and some sentences written over there. He skimmed through the page and tired to try one of the phrases written in the tome.

 _“Perzys Jikagon.”_ He said in the wind. The candles which were lit extinguished and the room fell into a dark silence. Daenerys’ voice broke through the silence.

“Jae, what did you?” She asked.

“I read one of the phrases in the book and suddenly the fire went out.” He shouted. “Where are you?” He asked.

“I am not near you. I went to look at some other shelves and then the candles extinguished.” She said. “You say it was a phrase that you said that did this?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“What was the phrase.” She asked.

 _“Perzys Jikagon.”_ He said. He could only hear the mutterings from her mouth and nothing else.

“ _‘Perzys Jikagon’_ means ‘Fire Go’. Try the counter phrase.” She said.

“The counter phase?” He asked.

“Yes, it will be something like ‘Fire Come’ so that means it will be _‘Perzys Māzigon’_.” She said.

As soon as she said the words the candles lit again, bathing them and the library in their light. He could see Dany a few feet from her and she walked up to him.

“How did that happen?” She asked him.

“I don't know,” He replied. “ I just read the phrase from this book and that happened.” He replied defensively.

“Ok, we will figure it out tomorrow because right now we need to find a bed. I am still very much aroused.” She said, whispering seductively in his ear as she rubbed his cock.

“Yeah. We sure have to.” He said, his knees weak because he was enjoying his current state very much.

“I see a door behind you. Let us see where it leads.” She said. He looked back and indeed saw a door but it didn’t have the usual palm slots.

“Dany it doesn’t have the palm slots. How do we get inside?” He asked. She went to the door and carefully observed it.

“Well yes it doesn’t have palm slots but doors can also open like this.” She said and she pushed the door hard and he was very surprised to see that it had indeed opened. They went inside the door to find a room, with a big mahogany table at the centre and a roaring fire in the side. The floor was carpeted with rich plum and purple colours and the room itself had a beautiful aura, one that promised every bit of calmness a person could find, too it. One side of the table had a throne-like chair the head carved into the shape of a dragon and the cushion red in colour and the other side three chairs, none of them too comfortable. The table was littered with scrolls but he dared not to touch it because he didn’t want anything to happen to them. On the wall behind the throne-chair hung a great painting. The painting consisted of a man and a woman, both of them wearing bright coloured armour, the woman wearing blue and the man wearing red. In their hands were two very unmistakeable swords. _Blackfyre and Dark Sister_ , he thought. They had the swords which had belonged into the Targaryen family for centuries. Beneath the painting, the word _‘TARGARYEN’_ was embossed in red rubies. The Targaryens did have a fascination for red and black.

“Dany are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He asked her. She just hummed at the question, asserting the fact that she had come to the same conclusion as him. “This is Targaryen place, Dany. This is the home of our ancestors. Our bloodline.” He said.

“Yes, it is. Before the doom fell we lived here. If the doom would not have happened we would still be here, together.” She said and she grabbed his hand.

“Yes, we would be.” He said as he turned and cupped her cheek. He leaned forward, eyes closed, hoping to find her lips midway but he didn’t. Her lips came fast and hard, bruising his lips sending a plethora of pain and pleasure. He moved his lips against her in synchronization, their bodies fitting against each other like puzzle pieces. He pushed her against the wall not being able to control himself anymore, he needed her and he needed her right now and was surprised that the wall opened like a door and both of them fell down, their faces inches apart.

He looked at her, the vision of beauty beneath him that looked so much like Irogenia of Lys, who was said to have finished a man by looking at him in the eyes, but he was no ordinary man. He was a dragon and it was a dragon that was beneath him not someone from the pleasure houses of Lys. Dany’s hair fanned on the rich, warm, red carpet. The candles were burning brightly reflecting off their naked bodies, giving them a golden sheen. Daenerys’ breasts were pressed against his chest, her nipples intermittently brushing against his nipples, sending heat to his manhood which was pressed against her womanhood, making it twitch. He looked at the room and was happy to find a bed at last. He could feel Dany’s hand in his hair as she grabbed it and pulled his head down giving him a passionate kiss.

“Dany….” He moaned between the kisses.

“Yes….” She said, her voice evidently showcasing her pleasure. He broke up from the kiss only too see Daenerys’ frowning face.

“There is a bed behind us.” He said.

“Then what are you waiting for.” She said and smiled. Her smiles made her face even more vibrant than before. He got up and scooped her up bridal style and walked over to the bed and then unceremoniously dropped her on the bed.

“Ahhhh….. Jaehaerys Targaryen I swear on Balerion, that mmmm……..” He kissed her hard and filled with passion. He opened her thighs and nestled himself between them as she moaned beneath him. He moved his mouth from her tasty mouth to her neck, wet from the previous kisses he had administered over there. He bit and sucked on her pulse point making them red, and proceeded down to her collar-bone. While Dany was in his mercy she moaned his name pushing his head down encouraging him more and more. He moved down to her breasts and captured one of her strawberry coloured nipples and sucked on them like a newborn babe. While he paid attention to one breast with his mouth he massaged the other breast with his hand, moulding them, as they came perfectly in his hands. He sucked, licked and bit on one nipple while he twisted and pulled the other making them both as hard as pebbles. All the while he could find his cock getting harder and harder pushing against Dany’s belly. He left her breasts to the warm, humid air and started kissing her down south skimming over her stomach, as he put his tongue inside her navel, pleasuring her, exactly the way Theon Greyjoy had told the guards how women like liked when he did this and that.

“Fuck Jae…. Just like that….. Yes right over there.” Dany moaned loudly.

He opened up her thighs more, her pink pussy, glistening with juices in front of him which looked very appetizing. He hovered his mouth an inch from her womanhood, breathing his warm air on her clit.

“Jae what are you doing?” Dany asked. He looked up in Dany’s eyes.

“Do you trust me?” He asked instead of replying.

“Yes, but-” He closed the gap between them and put a finger on her lips.

“Shhhhhhh……. You will love what I am going to do.” He asserted. He then went down again and sweetly kissed her on the top of her mound. He darted his eyes up, meeting Dany’s lust-filled gaze. He then kissed her again and then licked her, she tasted of peaches down there too. She arched her back due to the administrations being delivered to her. He kissed and licked with more ferocity now, his mouth solely being on her mound and his eyes on her. He felt Dany’s hand on his head, pushing him down on her pussy, encouraging him. Her pleasure filled moans made him go even fast on her. After a few minutes, he pushed his tongue inside her folds.

“Fuck! Jae…… Right there…….. keep doing it.” She breathed into the air. He could feel her thighs closing around his neck, keeping him in place. He darted his tongue inside her folds, hitting all her spots, making her scorching heat clench around his tongue. He moved his tongue inside her for a few more minutes as she was writhing under him, her thighs had completely closed around his neck, choking him a bit. He moved his hands to her nipples and pinched them and at the same time, he bit her clitoris. Juices from her womanhood came gushing inside his mouth as her back arched more and more as she screamed into the hot air surrounding them both.

He untangled himself from her sweaty thighs and came up his hard, throbbing manhood pressing against her. The sweat rolling from their skin joined together on the bed, the light reflecting from their skin as if they were the particular source. He kissed her and made her taste herself on his lips. He could feel her hand going down from his hair to his shoulders, then his chest, skimming across his stomach. He looked at her face and she shot him a predatory grin. Before he knew what was going to happen he had flipped and Dany was now on top, her hand slowly and sensually, making him gasp at her administrations.

“You have had a lot of fun Jaehaerys Targaryen. Now fuck me or I swear to gods you will never ever get to touch this body again.” She growled, her eyes, dilating like a cat’s or should he say a dragon’s.

“As my Queen commands.” He said in a sultry voice. He aligned her slit with his cock and slowly inserted the tip in her. The heat of her walls pressed down on him, enclosing him like a sheath for a sword. He pushed more of him inside her, and damn she was tight. Very tight. It was until he reached her hymen that he groaned.

“Dany how do you want it, fast or slow?” Dany somehow managed to speak.

“Whatever…. You think is best.” She said. _Fast is better_ , he thought and then he slammed himself inside her in one go. Dany cried loudly at the intrusion but he kept his cock inside her, trying to make her adjust to the length.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah!” She said breathless, “ It was just a momentary pause of pain.” She said.

He took out his cock out of her pussy only to see the sight of her maiden’s blood on his cock. He pushed himself back in, enjoying the heat and tightness of her pussy, that made his cock suffocate. He looked at her only to find her eyes closed and her lips moving as if she was muttering something. He leaned in to hear what she was muttering.

“Yessss……… Right there Jae…… So good, so fucking good Jae.” He grinned at what she was saying and broke her out of her mutterings by flipping her over so that she was back on her back and he was above her. He gave her a loud kiss as he slowly but gently rocked his hips against hers, the friction created by their bodies drenching their lower parts in sweat. He felt her thighs encircle his waist, pushing him in, encouraging him to fuck her harder. He granted her the request and fucked her harder than before. Her hands roamed the expanse of his back, her nails digging probably drawing out blood. He rammed in her, their breaths hot as they intermingled with each other. He proceeded to go south to her breasts as he kissed her nipples, sucking and biting both of them intermittently. He could hear the gasps coming out of her mouth and he couldn’t stop his grains either. This was the best sex he would ever have in his whole life. The first time he would have sex would be with someone equal, someone who felt like he felt, someone who was connected to him in more ways that emotions, someone who knew how it felt to be Dragon.

He kept kissing her, their thighs spasmed and both of them knew that they were close. Their breathing got heavier as his movements became erratic and with the last thrust, he lost himself inside her and at the same time she came too. Their juices intermingled covering their nether regions with a proof of their lovemaking right now. He pulled himself off her his cock now flaccid and he laid beside her. Dany scooted closer to him, keeping her head on his sweaty chest, instead of the soft comfortable pillows, kept on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her bring her closer, her hair touching his chin and a few strands tickling his nose.

“How was I?” Dany softly asked.

“You were like Valyria before its destruction, like Rhaenys to Aegon the Conqueror, like the fires burning in the building. You were amazing.” She giggled at it. She untangled herself from his arms and stared at him.

“You mean it?” She asked.

“Of course I mean it Dany. You were,” He just indicated a blast with his arms, “ I cannot put it into words. This night will be my best night for all the years that I’m alive.” He then gave her a short and sweet kiss and got off the bed.

“Where are you going?” She asked.

“To get a blanket.” He answered. He looked at the various doors and chose the one which had handles on it. He opened it to find a walk in wardrobe. He went inside to find a variety of clothes and jewels, in colours of beige, purple, plum, red, black, green, blue, pink, most of them being dark shades. There were various armbands and sword belts. He saw a thin blanket to one side and took it out. It was extremely soft and was dark blue in colour. He walked out and closed the wardrobe.

“What was in there?” She asked.

“Clothes, jewels, belts, armbands and many more things that I did not see.” He replied. He opened the blanket and spread it over the bed, which covered Daenerys till her throat. He joined her in bed and scooted closer to her as she placed her head on his chest and roamed her hand on his uncovered chest. He kissed her head that was nestled against his chin. “Good Night.” He muttered lazily as he took a huge yawn.

“Good Night.” Dany said, half asleep and both of them fell into a deep slumber, the day’s exhaustion taking a toll on their bodies and the general need to be close to each other.

**The Young Direwolf**

“Theon, Theon.” He shouted into the cold, biting air. He had his scarf up, covering his nose and face, the cold northern air rushing in his dark ice-blue eyes. He shielded them by covering them with a hand while his other hand gripped Grey Wind’s fur. He was out of Winterfell, on his way to the Barrowlands, trying to search for Theon Greyjoy. His outburst at Theon that was very bad, he admitted it, but Theon Greyjoy had just left Winterfell, considering he was not allowed to as he was a prisoner of war, for a lack of better words. He had left Winterfell alone, though he probably knew that a score of guards were following him, but they didn’t dare come near him as his direwolf had a pretty strong nose. Grey Wind padded through the snows, leaving his big, for a wolf, footprints behind him as he continued to smell for the scent he had given to him. A scent that screamed Greyjoy and there was only one Greyjoy in Winterfell. Theon. As if on cue, Gery Wind rushed forward, and for the umpteenth time he thanked Tyrion for the igneous saddle he had designed. His legs were strapped to Grey Wind’s body and Ice was in its sheath, also strapped to Grey Wind, fairly high so that he could take it out with ease and it didn’t touch the ground. It was during the ongoing run, with the cold wind running across his face, leaving snowflakes in his auburn hair, bordering towards brown, and his newly grown beard. He remembered the very recent talk he had with Maester Luwin, about him holding the North as his father was in King’s Landing. He remembered the council of the wizened, old man. It was a sharp one.

_He was in his solar looking over the various messages he had received. Nearly all of them told that they would gladly part with some of their minerals and woods if it meant gaining the North some money. Lords Umber, Karstark, Bolton, Cerwyn, Mormont had already dispatched some of the items they had found and they were due to reach in about a week or so, less for the Cerwyn’s. Lord Manderly had built a part of the Northern Navy and had started making freighter ships to the transport the various goods that the North had accumulated. Lord Howland Reed had also replied to the Raven, but with his own owl, which he found odd. He had told him that he would gladly come to Winterfell if his Lord called him and was on his way from the warm Neck to the cold North. He heard a knock on the door._

_“Come in.” He replied to the knock. The door of his solar slowly creaked open and Maester Luwin came in. He expected that the Maester would have a raven scroll in his hand and he certainly didn’t expect the Maester to have hard words upon his lips._

_“Lord Robb, may I presume to ask the whereabouts of Theon Greyjoy?” The Maester asked. He had feared this talk with anyone and nobody had noticed the Greyjoy, even after he had been gone for a day, so he was grateful to the gods. But it seemed that the old Maester had finally caught up. “And please, My Lord, do not lie.” He hung his head down and told the Maester the whole story. From the Wolfs Wood to the grounds and their fight. What all he had said._

_“Well, My Lord, you should dispatch guardsmen to look for him and send a raven to Lady Dustin to have her men search the Barrowlands.”_

_“No this is my mess, I’ll find him and bring him back here. The summer snows are not too hard so it will be okay and before you say anyone about hurting me I’ll take Grey Wind. I’m Sure they will think twice before attacking a direwolf and a man with a sword huge as Ice. Maester tell Farlen to release Grey Wind. I’ll go right now.” The Maester nodded and left him alone in his solar. He exited his solar and went to his room and donned his woollen cloak, the bands making an ‘X’ on his chest. He picked up Ice and went outside and was immediately greeted by Grey Wind._

_“Hey Boy.” He greeted the large direwolf and proceeded to hug him, Grey Winds large, fuzzy, yet warm, neck beside his own and his hands roaming the direwolf’s warm back. He stood up and then proceeded to attach Ice, along with its sheath, to the saddle._

_“Maester Luwin.” He called out. He could see the Maester walking towards him, fast and brisk, and came and stood beside him. “Take care of both Rickon and Winterfell. They are under your protection until I return.” He told the Maester. The Maester nodded at the newly given responsibility. He got on Grey Wind’s back and motioned him to go forward, outside the gates of Winterfell, to find Theon Greyjoy and bring his sorry ass back to Winterfell._

The boost of speed that Grey Wind had acquired in a short span of time ended. Where the large, direwolf stopped, he started sniffing the area, moving in short circles. Grey Wind suddenly stopped and looked east or that is what he thought. Where the direwolf looked he only found shrubs, coated white from the heavy snowfall that had happened. The direwolf turned his massive head and looked at him with his intelligent yellow gaze as if it contained years and years and worth of knowledge as it challenged him if he would or wouldn’t find Theon behind the bushes. Giving into Grey Wind’s gaze he got off him, his feet touching the soft ground, barely producing any sound, as the cold seeped into his warm boots giving him the chills. He approached the shrubs as he took out his dirk from its small sheath, which was strapped to his sword belt, which contained a short-sword. He cut down the shrubs, making a path for him to travel to the other side. _A damn fool, you are Robb Stark, not to trust a direwolf’s nose,_ he berated himself as he saw what was on the other side.

Theon was propped on a tree, a blanket covering him, but the blanket did not quite cover him, giving Theon the chills of the snow that had accumulated on him. Theon’s face was red from the cold, the snow having formed whiskers on his face. Theon’s horse Stranger was lying on the side, unmoving due to the cold that had already claimed him. He went near the tree and Picked up Theon swinging him over his shoulder. He went back to Grey Wind finding himself to meet the yellow gaze of his most trusted companion. Grey Wind’s eyes seemed to mock him for doubting the direwolf as he saddled himself to The direwolf and attached Theon to him with the spare both of cloth he had cut from the blanket. Theon’s blanket separated them both as he urged Grey Wind forward, telling him to take them to Winterfell.

**The Lady Direwolf**

She was sitting on the same seat on which she had sat the previous day. On her left sat Jeyne Poole and on her right sat Arya, wearing a pretty blue dress, just like she had worn yesterday. Today she wore a red and blue dress, complimenting her eyes and hair and showcasing the colours of her mother’s house. House Tully. She could see the banners hanging down, showcasing the Seven great houses of Westeros. Baratheon, Lannister, Stark, Arryn, Martell, Tully, and Tyrell. She remembered all the sigils and words by heart and could recite them even now if anyone asked her. The seats around were filled with the commoners who had come to see the Jousts, the knights in their beautiful armour and the great chargers caparisoned in silver and gold and in the sigils of the people houses. She saw the Kingsguard in their pure white cloak and armour except for Ser Jaime who wore his gilded armour, indicating his house, House Lannisters, famous for being the richest house of Westeros.

She looked back to where the King and Queen had been seated. Makeshift thrones had been erected in their honour, and for their three golden children, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen but only Joffrey was seated. They Were guarded by Ser Preston Greenfield and the Hound both wearing opposite colours, White and Black respectively. She could not see Orys over there, as she had assumed that Orys would be seated next to the King because the King was fond of him. The King was wearing a red shirt with a black and gold doublet, His hair loose and his fierce beard hiding his chin and most of his face, which was red. He was wearing a crown made of gold, gilded stags decorating the surface with various onyx stones fitted in it.

The queen, on the other hand, was wearing a crimson gown, with a multitude of jewels, most of them decorated with emeralds, complimenting her eyes. Her hair was done up like a crown such that she didn’t need a crown but she still wore a crown of gold, which perfectly disappeared in her golden hair. Joffrey was wearing a crimson doublet with gold lion head studs sewn into it and a dark red silk cloak draped over his right shoulder. His head had a slim cornet made of gold and sapphires, marking him as the Heir to the Iron Throne.

Tommen and Myrcella were nowhere to be found until she saw  Orys, wearing a dark blue shirt with a black doublet fitted with silver stags, breeches, and shoes, escorted them. His hair like his father was loose but it did not reach his shoulders. His blue eyes were alight with happiness as he escorted his younger brother and sister to their seats. For a moment she saw the Queen’s and Joffrey eyes alight with anger until Myrcella stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Orys on the cheek in a sisterly way. After that Queen stood up hurriedly and left while Joffrey’s knuckles were white from him gripping the arms of his chair tightly. Suddenly a beast of a man, eight-feet tall, wearing black armour, and a black flat-topped greathelm. His stallion was full black, a mammoth too, caparisoned in yellow cloth that showcased the symbol. Three black dogs a yellow field. She ransacked her brain to find which house the sigil belonged to.

“That is Gregor of the House Clegane. He is called the ‘Mountain that Rides’ and is the older brother of the Hound. People call him the Mad Dog of Tywin Lannister but don’t let him hear it.” A sassy voice said from behind. She whipped her hair back and found herself staring at a pair of smiling grey-green eyes. The man who they belonged to had a sharply pointed face with a pointed beard. “Petyr Baelish, my lady,” He said as he kissed the back of the offered hand, as courtesy demanded, “I can’t help but say that you look exactly like your mother, very beautiful.” She found herself blushing at the comment, the lady in her rising up.

“Thank you, Lord Baelish,” He gave a short smile at that, “but may I inquire as to how you know my mother?” She asked.

“Well, you see I was raised as a ward to your maternal grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully, in Riverrun and I grew up with your mother Catelyn, your Aunt Lysa and Uncle Edmure.” He explained.

“Why are you called Littlefinger?” Arya’s inquisitive voice came from beside her.

“Arya. Don’t be rude.” Septa Mordane screeched and she probably expected to give Arya a hearing, but knowing her little sister, the Septa would not be able to do anything.

“Oh. It’s quite alright.” Baelish said. He then looked at Arya and recited as to how he got the name Littlefinger. “You see when I was a little child I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers in the Vale, so you see. Its an exceedingly clever nickname.” He said.

“I’ve been sitting here for days. Start the damn joust before I piss meself.” A booming voice resonated. She looked back to see the King give Ser Preston his horn of wine. The crowd cheered and howled at the proclamation as the jousters came up and lined against each other.

The first was Jory, wearing drab armour against Ser Horas Redwyne, Petyr had whispered the name to them. Jory easily defeats him. The second match is between Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard against Harwin, the latter easily defeated by the former. Next was again Jory against some member of House Frey, easily recognisable through the insignia on the shield. Jory defeated the man too. Each time someone from the knights clashed Jeyne would scream out in horror.

“Can you please stop screaming Jeyne. This is a joust Knights are supposed to clash.” She admonished the girl. Jeyne stayed shut since then.

Next was Ser Balon Swann who defeated Alyn easily. After the match came Jory and free-rider named Lothor Brune. The tilted three times after which Lothor Brune was granted victory. The joust continues till afternoon, in which Ser Jaime Lannister rides brilliantly defeating Ser Barristan, who himself till now had unhorsed two men thirty and forty years younger than him. The Hound and his immense brother seem undefeatable as the ride through the lists winning every match.

The next match was between Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Hugh of the Vale. Ser Hugh wore a shiny new armour with blue cloak whose borders were trimmed with crescent moons. They both rode to opposite sides grabbing their lances and shield. The horn sound and both rushed towards each other, lances tilted towards each other. Ser Gregor’s lance touched the knight but Ser Hugh was saved by his shield. They again rode against each other and this time Ser Gregor pushed his lance forward, which hit Ser Hugh on his throat. The crowd rose screaming as the newly minted knight was thrown from his horse and landed in front of them. A piece of Gregor Clegane’s lance was still stuck in the throat as the knight coughed up blood from his mouth. Jeyne beside her started to cry hysterically and Septa Mordane was forced to take her out of the stands. The knight tried to move his hand but only failed which lead to his death. Two boys came up and dragged the body down the strands clearing the place.

Time passed but Septa Mordane and Jeyne didn’t return back, leaving her alone with Petyr Baelish and Arya. The next pair of Jousters were Sandor Clegane the Hound, in his black armour, and Lord Renly, in his green armour. The helmet of the Hound was in the shape of a snarling dog while Lord Renly wore an antlered helm very similar to what the King and Orys wore, except the helm was green and the horns were gilded. The crowd cheered for the well known and loved Lord Renly Baratheon. They rode against each other, and in two jousts the Hound had defeated Lord Renly, who fell from his horse and one of his gilded antlers broke off. Lord Renly then took the broken antler and gave it to the Hound who merely through it into the crowd which led to a riot. It was only after Lord Renly subsided the riot that the jousts began again. By approximately four in the evening, only four contestants were left. They were, Ser Loras Tyrell, Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Gregor Clegane and Sandor Clegane.

The next joust, of the semi-finals, was between Ser Jaime Lannister and the Hound. Ser Jaime was at one end of the crown, in his gilded armour and white cloak while the Hound was in his black armour.

“It is Ser Jaime who will win. After all, a dog never bites the hand that feeds it.” Petyr Baelish said. At that very moment, she saw her father come to the stands.

“Lord Baelish may you please shift so that I may sit with my daughters.” Her father said.

“Of course my lord.” He said and got up moving and disappearing altogether. Her father sat next to her looking intently at the joust that was going to happen and she too paid attention to it to find if Petyr Baelish had told the truth. The Hound and Jaime Lannister clashed together, their lances breaking against each other, while both were pushed back a bit from their saddle. The second time they rode The Hound soundly beat Ser Jaime, pushing him away from his saddle, while the King guffawed loudly at his demise of not being able to see through his half mangled helm. Ser Jaime was then taken by his squires.

After the joust between Ser Jaime and the Hound, Ser Loras had started distributing white roses to all the maidens in the crowd, wearing a silver armour decorated with black sapphires and twining vines. She could see all the maidens and some already married women swoon at the beautiful knight. By the corner of her eye, she could see Ser Loras coming towards her. He stopped exactly in front of her from his white cloak, sewn with mistletoe and procured forth a red rose.

“No victory is as half so beautiful as you.” Ser Loras said in a rich voice. She couldn’t help but blush at his comment he went and took his place at the opposite stand.

Ser Loras, his armour, his mare, all graceful and white, contrasted to Ser Gregor, his armour and his stallion, all muscled and black. She couldn’t help but notice that Ser Gregor’s stallion seemed to be acting strangely around the mare. As soon as the pass is done Ser Gregor’s mount breaks into a hard gallop, while Ser Loras rode his mare smoothly. She could see Ser Gregor struggling with his horse, shield and lance and when the two knights clash, Ser Gregor is thrown off his horse, with Ser Loras’ lance still intact. At the win of Ser Loras, the crowd starts to cheer wildly. Ser Loras did victory laps, waving his hand at the people, acknowledging his victory.

“Sword.” She heard someone shouting, and looked towards there to see Ser Gregor, standing, his face now vivid and clear and red, in anger. She saw three squires carrying a six-foot-tall, double-handed greatsword, somewhat like Ice, but far heavier, because even she knew that Valyrian Steel was lighter than normal steel. The squires hurried to Ser Gregor and just as they reached Ser Gregor took the sword, holding the horse steady. He unsheathed the sword and swung it at the horse, decapitating it with one blow. The crown looked flabbergasted at the display, and Ser Gregor kept on marching towards Ser Loras, one hand held his greatsword and the other in a tight fist. Ser Gregor sent Ser Loras in the ground on his first blow with his fist and raises his sword to deliver the killing blow until out of somewhere the Hound came and locked swords with his brother. The Hound and the Mountain start trading blows with each other, with the Mountain sending his blows directly to his son’s head, but the Hound stopped each one of them, remaining on the defensive. When she looked around she could see Joffrey’s face lit with pure glee, while Orys was taking care of his little brother and sister, who were afraid. The King was red with anger and the crowd looked shocked.

“Stop this madness in the name of your King.” King Robert shouted above the sound of the clashing blades and the Hound dropped to one knee while Ser Gregor’s blade missed him by a hair's breadth. Ser Gregor angrily threw the sword on the ground and strode off. “Let him go.” The King said and the crowds parted away to let Ser Gregor go.

She could see Ser Loras from the corner of her eye, approaching the Hound.

“I owe you my life Ser.” Ser Loras said.

“I am no Ser.” The Hound rebuffed. Ser Loras then grabs his hand and waves it up in the air and the crowd starts to hoot and shout.

“I present you the winner of the Joust.” Ser Loras shouted while the Hound nodded his head to everyone.

* * *

The feast that was going to happen besides the river and a huge dais had been erected. Her father, being the Hand of the King, had the honour to sit on the dais with his family, consisting of only Arya and her and Septa Mordane. She was reluctantly seated next to Joffrey and searched the table below for Orys. Joffrey had worn a  deep blue doublet studded with double rows of lion heads and around his brow wore the slim coronet he had worn for the jousts.

“My lady.” She heard and turned to see Joffrey smiling at her. She gave him a fake smile as he pressed his wormy lips to her hand. Prince Joffrey, a proper lion she could tell because had nothing of the king in him, unlike Orys who looked like him and fought with a hammer. Joffrey was not a true prince and not a Baratheon. Her brother Jon or Jaehaerys was the true prince and Orys was a true Baratheon.

“Let the wine flow and the feast begin.” The King shouted and the servants began pouring iced summerwine in everybody’s cups. They even poured it in her cup but she anxiously looked at Septa Mordane for permission until the servant even filled the Septa’s cup who just nodded and didn’t pay attention to her. She, taking this as a yes, drank from her cup. She looked around the banquet, and she saw two heavy chests being brought in front of the King. One of them was bigger than the other, both of them embossed with the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

“Orys.” The King shouted. Orys from somewhere came forward, not drunk like his father, at which she was surprised, and knelt at the feet of the King.

“Father.”

“Joffrey.” The King again shouted. Joffrey stood up and went before the King and followed Orys’ example of kneeling in front of the King.

“Father.”

“Both my sons have done me proud and I wish to reward them.” The King then summoned the servant to bring forward the larger box, and the servant kept it in front of the King. The King kicked the box open to reveal a beautiful hammer, the head being dark, but she could see the waves present in it. _Valyrian Steel,_ her mind offered. It was not only that what caught the eye. What caught the eye was the presence of the overlapping golden waves which didn’t quite meet its grey counterpart, creating two distinct set of ripples. Both the sides of the hammer were flat, so that it could only be used to injure and not kill. The handle too was black, with a stang inlaid in it, made of pure gold. Beside the Hammer was another hammer-head. It was similar to the previous hammer-head, which was attached to the handle, except that the sides were made of spikes instead of being flat. This was made to kill, this was made to be used in war.

“Orys for you, this beautiful hammer, with an additional hammer-head, made of Valyrian Steel, melted from the two Greatswords present in the armoury, of the Mad King, intertwined with the colour gold, representing the Baratheon colours. The handle is dragonbone, from the Dragon Balerion, inlaid with gold in the shape of a stag's antlers. This head is made for tourneys. The other head is made for war. This is yours.” Orys stepped forward and gently picked up the hammer out of the box, cradling it like a newborn baby. “Name it.” The King shouted. The crowd picked up the pace until almost everyone was shouting at Orys to name the hammer.

 _“Maelstrom,”_ Orys shouted in the air, waving the hammer, as everybody clapped. He put it back in the case and the King ordered the servant to put it Orys’ chambers.

The King then ordered the next servant to bring the next box, which he again placed at the foot of the King. He kicked open the box to reveal a beautiful Sword.

“Joffrey for you, this beautiful sword, made of Valyrian steel with the same overlapping colours of Gold in it. The handle is also dragonbone, from the Dragon Meraxes, inlaid with gold in spirals. The ruby above is from the rubies of the breastplate belonging to Rhaegar Targaryen, with two gold antlers above it to acknowledge your heritage of both the Houses Baratheon and Lannister.” Joffrey, like a giddy child, picked it up and slashed the air in front of him. “Name it.” The King again shouted and the crowd once more joined the shouting.

 _“Stormbreaker,”_ Joffrey shouted in the air, waving the sword, as everybody clapped at their prince. He put it back in the case the King again ordered the servant to keep it Joffrey’s chambers.

“Today I’m proud to announce that House Baratheon has not one but two Valyrian Steel weapons and that Orys will be leaving to the ancestral seat of House Baratheon, Storm’s End in three days time.” He announced to the guests. The guests clapped at the announcement, though she did think it was more on the part of the Valyrian Steel addition to House Baratheon rather than the part where Orys would be leaving to Storm’s End. “Let the feast continue.” He again shouted and the servants went and kept pouring iced summerwine and the courses that came. A thick soup of barley and venison. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and garlic. She had never eaten snails before but after looking here and there she learned and quickly taught it to Arya, so that she would not make a mess of it. Then came trout fresh from the river, baked in clay; Septa Mordane helped her and Arya break the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh in it. When the meat came she generously helped herself to a portion of it.

Later came sweetbreads and pigeon pie and baked apples fragrant with cinnamon and lemon cakes frosted in sugar, but by then she was so stuffed that she could not manage more than two little lemon cakes, as much as she loved them.

When the feast got over Joffrey came to her. “It grows late.” He said, “Do you need a escort back to the castle.”

“No.” She said, trying to get away so that she could go with Septa Mordane, but she found her to be asleep. The streets this time were dangerous, even she knew that, so an escort wouldn’t be bad if it wasn’t Joffrey. “I mean yes, The roads would be dark and unsafe and I would be happy for some protection.”

“Dog.” Joffrey called out.

Sandor Clegane seemed to take form out of the night, so quickly did he appear. He had exchanged his armor for a red woolen tunic with a leather dog’s head sewn on the front. The light of the torches made his burned face shine a dull red. “Yes, Your Grace?” he said.

“Take Lady Sansa, back to the castle and make sure no harm befalls her.” Joffrey said before leaving her alone with the hound to escort her.

“Did you think that Joffrey was going to escort you.” He asked.

“No. In fact, I am quite happy that he didn’t.” She said to the Hound.

The Hound snatched up a torch to light their way. She followed close beside him. The ground was rocky and uneven; the flickering light made it seem to shift and move beneath her. She kept her eyes lowered, watching where she placed her feet. They walked among the pavilions, each with its banner and its armour hung outside, the silence weighing heavier with every step. She could not bear the sight of him, he frightened her so, yet she had been raised in all the ways of courtesy. Somehow she complimented him. “You rode gallantly today Ser Sandor.” she said.

Sandor Clegane snarled at her. “Spare me your empty little compliments, girl . . . and your ser’s. I am no knight. I spit on them and their vows. My brother is a knight. Did you see him ride today?”

“Yes…,” She began, “ He was-”

“Gallant?” The Hound finished.

“No, he was terrifying. And no one could withstand him.”

“No one could withstand him,” the Hound rasped. “That’s true enough. No one could ever withstand Gregor. That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of business. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with that armour. That gorget wasn’t fastened proper. You think Gregor didn’t notice that? You think Ser Gregor’s lance rode up by chance, do you? Gregor’s lance goes where Gregor wants it to go. Look at me. Look at me!” Sandor Clegane put a huge hand under her chin and forced her face up. He squatted in front of her, and moved the torch close. “There’s a pretty for you. Take a good long stare. You know you want to. I’ve watched you turn away all the way down the kingsroad. Piss on that. Take your look.”

She looked. The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face.

The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks that gleamed red and wet when he moved. Down by his jaw, you could see a hint of bone where the flesh had been seared away.

“Most of them, they think it was some battle. A siege, a burning tower, an enemy with a torch. One fool asked if it was dragonsbreath.” His laugh was softer this time, but just as bitter. “I’ll tell you what it was, girl,” he said, a voice from the night, a shadow leaning so close now that she could smell the sour stench of wine on his breath. “I was younger than you, six, maybe seven. A woodcarver set up shop in the village under my father’s keep, and to buy favor he sent us gifts. The old man made marvellous toys. I don’t remember what I got, but it was Gregor’s gift I wanted. A wooden knight, all painted up, every joint pegged separate and fixed with strings, so you could make him fight. Gregor is five years older than me, the toy was nothing to him, he was already a squire, near six foot tall and muscled like an ox. So I took his knight, but there was no joy to it, I tell you. I was scared all the while, and true enough, he found me. There was a brazier in the room. Gregor never said a word, just picked me up under his arm and shoved the side of my face down in the burning coals and held me there while I screamed and screamed. You saw how strong he is. Even then, it took three grown men to drag him off me. The septons preach about the seven hells. What do they know? Only a man who’s been burned knows what hell is truly like.

“My father told everyone my bedding had caught fire, and our maester gave me ointments. Ointments! Gregor got his ointments too. Four years later, they anointed him with the seven oils and he recited his knightly vows and Rhaegar Targaryen tapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘Arise, Ser Gregor.’ ”

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. “He was no true knight,” she whispered to him.

The Hound threw back his head and roared. Sansa stumbled back, away from him, but he caught her arm. “No,” he growled at her, “no, little wolf, he was no true knight.”

The rest of the way into the city, Sandor Clegane said not a word. He led her to where the carts were waiting, told a driver to take them back to the Red Keep, and climbed in after her. They rode in silence through the King’s Gate and up torchlit city streets. He opened the postern door and led her into the castle, his burned face twitching and his eyes brooding, and he was one step behind her as they climbed the tower stairs. He took her safe all the way to the corridor outside her bedchamber.

“Thank you, my lord,” Sansa said meekly.

The Hound caught her by the arm and leaned close. “The things I told you tonight,” he said, his voice sounding even rougher than usual. “If you ever tell your sister, your father . . . any of them . .”

“I won’t,” Sansa whispered. “I promise.”

It was not enough. “If you ever tell anyone,” he finished, “I’ll kill you.”

**Signing Off- _Airewind_**

* * *

[Ser Barristan Selmy](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/3/37/Romain_Leguay_ser_Barristan_Selmy.jpg)

[Ser Hugh of the Vale](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/f/fd/Ser_Hugh_of_the_Vale_TheMico.jpg)

[Lancel Lannister](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/b/b6/Lancel_Lannister.jpg)

[Maester Luwin](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/a/a4/Brittmartin_Maester_Luwin.jpg)

[Rickon Stark](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/e/e3/Rickon_Stark.jpg)

[Theon Greyjoy](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/a/a1/Brittmartin_Theon.jpg)

[Ser Preston Greenfield](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/71/Ser_Preston_Greenfield_TheMico.jpg)

[Sandor Clegane](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/7/7b/MiguelRegod%C3%B3nHarkness_theHound.jpg)

[Myrcella Baratheon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/e/e5/Myrcella_Baratheon.jpg)

[Tommen Baratheon](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/d/d4/Tommen_Baratheon.jpg)

[Hoster Tully](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/1/1d/Jonathan_Standing_HosterT.jpg)

[Ser Gregor Clegane](https://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/4/4a/Komarck_Gregor_Clegane_FFG.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People please do Review and as to mention the chapter is an unedited version. As soon as it has been edited I will post the chapter again. The mention of Valyrian in the story is going to be a lot and one more old language is going to be added. They will be written in normal English with the Italics and Underline as mentioned at the top of the story. This will be done from the next Chapter. Thank You all and the Story has just reached its 17k+ mark.
> 
> Thank You all and please do review.

**Author's Note:**

> A.N: I had originally planned to link the characters to the images from my computer but have been unable to do so. If anybody knows how to do it, please help me over here.  
> Also, the colors I have used can be found on this link. The color wine is a shade of both purple and red, go for the purple one.  
> Link: https://digitalsynopsis.com/design/color-thesaurus-correct-names-of-shades/  
> Airewind.


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